


Mission Critical

by jamdropsmarblecakes



Series: Do You Copy? [1]
Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: F/M, Oliver Queen/Felicity Smoak - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-14
Updated: 2014-11-29
Packaged: 2018-02-21 05:24:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 37
Words: 72,543
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2456402
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jamdropsmarblecakes/pseuds/jamdropsmarblecakes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A militaryAU that sees the Arrow Team come together as a Special Ops Task Force.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Call The Hands

**Author's Note:**

> I watched Lone Survivor recently, a movie that devastated my soul. I really want to throw Team Arrow into a heavy military situation so please bear with me while I navigate through my first proper multi-chapter fic.
> 
> This first chapter is short, probably the shortest chapter I've drafted. Please understand that the rest of them will not be this short.

The ear piercingly familiar piped tune startled Felicity from her sleep. Christ, she hated that series of blaring, never quite pitch perfect whistles. She sighed heavily as it wrapped up and was followed by the usual announcement.

“Call the hands, call the hands, call the hands, wakey, wakey, wakey.”

The ship had cruised through some rough waters during the night and to aid her sleep and prevent her from tumbling out of her rack Felicity had tucked her leg down between the mattress and the wall.

The voice, which she recognised as Seaman Allen’s, was reading the daily guide monotonously. You can only smoke here, do not go out of bounds, a friendly reminder that the cooks do not serve an all-day breakfast, etc.

She pulled her knee out of where it was wedged and rolled onto her back, lazily rubbing her eyes.

“Assume damage control, state 3, condition voyage.”

Felicity sighed, relieved that the morning brief was over. 

The intercom clicked once more.

“Petty Officer Smoak, you are expected in the Commander Steele’s office at 0630,” was the last announcement, spoken quickly and not as if it were being read off a clipboard, but rather relayed as it was hissed into his ear.

Felicity glanced at her watch and groaned. She had 28 minutes to shower, get dressed and eat before she was required at the other end of the ship. 

“Felicity,” Sara, a PO2 that bunked above her, hissed her name groggily, “get up, stop sighing and huffing and puffing, I just got off watch, I need to sleep.”

“I agree,” came somebody else’s croaky voice.

“Sorry, I just need to find a bit of-” 

A pillow, with Sara’s arm at one end, came flying with surprising force from the bunk above.

Felicity’s shriek died in her throat and she hustled out of bed. Seven other female POs that she shared a cabin with were in various states of getting up. She sneezed and Sara hauled another pillow her way. She grabbed the navy issued dressing gown, her towel and her toiletries, and stumbled to the shower before the attack became worse.


	2. Crash Posting

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope that there is enough jargon in this story to make it believable, but not so much that it's like another language. Let me know if I need to rectify this either way.

She adjusted the top of her uniform, smoothed her hair back towards her bun and pushed her glasses back up her face. She was going over work for the past couple of days, trying to recall if she had messed up anything. 

As a Petty Officer First Class, she was always working on something. Given that she essentially did two jobs on the ship, working both in the Communications and Information Systems room and Combat Systems operations, she admitted that maybe she was just spread too thin and had made a mistake. Granted, it wasn’t likely to be a spectacular one. Her being called to the SEAL commander’s office had, after all, followed the general wake up call. It wasn’t like she was hauled bodily from her rack and torn a new one on the deck of the ship in her pyjamas at three o’clock in the morning. 

She flung the door open, annoyed, and marched in.

“I have one question,” she didn’t even bother with a salute, “Why am I being posted off the ship?”

“Petty Officer Smoak, isn’t it?” Commander Walter Steele asked, not looking at all surprised by her intrusion.

“Yes and I am without a doubt the single most valuable member of you combat and communications sector, and that includes my so called superiors,” she spat, “letting me go would be a major error for this ship.”

“I agree,” Walter nodded, “which is why you’re not being land posted.”

Felicity faltered.

“I assumed, when I got the call to come here, it was because,” and she made a throat slitting action, complete with sound effects.

“I’ll need you to head to the bridge and have a chat to the officers waiting for you there,” Commander Steele explained, “It’s because I need you to take on a special job.”

“I’m your girl,” she nodded and then cringed, hopping from foot to foot, “I mean, I’m not your girl, I wasn’t make a pass at you.”

“You are dismissed, Petty Officer, report to the bridge.”

“Thank you for not land posting me.”

She took the ladders between the decks at a jog, coming to a stop before the bridge, calming herself, and fixing her uniform.

“After you, Smoak,” came the voice from behind her.

She jumped and spun around, spotting Barry Allen grinning at her, a dimple in one cheek indicating that he was smirking boldly at her, like he knew what she was in for.

“Right,” she nodded and opened the door to the bridge.

She trotted up the stairs and saluted the four officers that were standing in a loose circle, chatting jovially and sipping their morning coffees.

Barry ducked out of the way and returned to the radio set up to the left of the main bridge with his cup of coffee and what appeared to be a bag of chips.

Feeling her stomach grumbling, she cleared her throat. She was forced to wait in the line for the shower and had skipped breakfast and her usual coffee. She was having regrets of epic proportions.

“Sir, ma’am,” she acknowledged the three men and one woman who had turned to regard her. She recognised two of them as being part of the ship’s company, Lieutenant Commander Thomas ‘Tommy’ Merlyn and Lieutenant Oliver Queen, but the other two, the woman wearing summer whites and the man wearing what appeared to be Army issued desert camouflage, were unfamiliar.

“Ah, Petty Officer Smoak,” Tommy smiled at her.

“Sir,” she nodded.

“Relax, sailor,” the woman spoke.

“Ah, yes, ma’am,” Felicity cracked her knuckles. To be honest, the formidable woman wearing four stripes on her shoulders was not doing anything to help the young sailor feel at ease. Her face was yet to change from the blank expression she had put on the minute Felicity arrived.

“Smoak, this is Captain Amanda Waller, she is the commanding officer of SWCC,” Tommy explained, pronouncing the acronym as ‘swick’.

The SWCC was a special operations force that managed and maintained an inventory of small craft used to support special operations missions, particularly those of the U.S. Navy SEALs. The handsome Lieutenant Queen that Felicity spent most of her time avoiding eye contact with was a SEAL.

“Ma’am,” Felicity nodded.

“What’s your security clearance, Petty Officer Smoak?” Amanda asked, folding her arms across her chest.

“Ah, top secret, ma’am,” Felicity nodded, glancing at the still unidentified army officer before them. She judged by the green beret tucked into one of the pockets of his trousers that he was Special Forces.

“And you also have SCI Access?” she questioned, referring to information that was just a tad more secret than top secret.

“For most things, ma’am,” she assured her.

Amanda Waller cleared her throat.

“Everybody not directly involved in this conversation or part of the skeleton crew currently operating the ship is to leave the bridge immediately,” she ordered.

There were a few whispered acknowledgements of the order but for the most part, everyone scurried down the small set of stairs and out into the halls in silence.

“Alright, Petty Officer Smoak, this is Sergeant John Diggle, a Special Forces weapons specialist.”

She smiled at him, receiving a kind nod in reply.

“The sergeant and his team are currently working out of Forward Operating Base Chapman in Afghanistan, they require the assistance of a small SEAL team to help eliminate a high profile target by the name of Merzad Shah.”

Felicity drew in a long breath and let it out shakily.

“They also require someone who is doubly qualified to keep the personnel at a top secret outpost to a minimum.”

“I have heard, Felicity, that you are qualified as a CIS and a CSO,” Diggle finally spoke.

“Affirmative, sir,” she replied.

“As it happens, I need a new CSO and someone to operate general communications and information systems,” he explained.

“A new CSO?” she squeaked and, after Oliver had cleared his throat, added a more professional, “Sir?” to her concerned question.

“Yes.”

“Yes?”

“Smoak, your new posting order is to Outpost Murphy, a currently restricted knowledge number of miles south east of Chapman,” Tommy pulled a folded piece of paper from the pocket low on the leg of his uniform.

He held it out to her and Felicity reached hesitantly to take it. She scanned it briefly, noting that the deployment was a crash deployment, effective immediately. She chewed on her bottom lip, slightly unnerved and then refolded it.

“Yes, sir, thank you, sir,” she nodded.

“Oh, she is not okay with this,” Amanda sighed, throwing her hands in the air and turning around.

“She’s fine,” Oliver assured her.

“She’s baulking already!” the Captain continued to speak about her as if she wasn’t there.

“I have every faith in the Petty Officer’s ability to step up to the job.”

“Queen, I did not ask you! You answer to me, you don’t make suggestions!” she exclaimed.

“Ma’am, she is a highly capable sailor who I will not and would not hesitate to recommend for any kind of deployment, this one especially! Her yearly EVALs place her as the best candidate for this job. Her record is impeccable.”

“Lieutenant, have you ever interacted with this sailor? Do you know the way her brain works? There can be no duty/conscience gap when it comes to this mission!”

“The navy in its entirety is very large, ma’am, I will not deny that, but this ship is very small. Smoak is highly regarded among her peers and her commanding officers in both the operations that she takes part in day in, day out.”

Felicity could feel the panic rising in her chest. She still couldn’t quite comprehend the meaning of Diggle’s team needing a new CSO, nor could she quite believe that the highly decorated Lieutenant Oliver Queen deemed her the best person for the job. And the fact that the posting order stated that she was to be on board a Seahawk departing the ship at 1635 that afternoon was the cherry on top of an anxiety cake that she wasn’t sure she could stomach.

Her eyes darted between Diggle and Tommy, silently begging one of them to do something.

“Have you got Navy Type II uniform?” Tommy asked, taking her by the elbow and directing her away from the arguing group.

“Ah,” she stammered, still thrown by the gravity of the situation and unable to form a reply.

“Petty Officer Smoak,” Tommy barked.

“No, no, sir, I have never needed the type II,” Felicity was able to reply quickly when her name was roared. It was amazing the way that recruit school conditioned her to respond to yelled commands above all else.

“Sailor, will you be requiring a trip to the ships store to be issued the uniform?”

“Yes, sir,” she replied and swallowed hard.

“Smoak?” he said softly, differently from moments before.

“Yes, sir?” 

“You’ll be okay.”

She nodded, quietly excused herself and almost forgot to salute as she left the bridge.


	3. The Duty/Conscience Gap

They’d been traveling in the helicopter for over four hours now. Oliver was the only officer in his SEAL team. HIS SEAL team. He was the leader. Oliver was keen to keep an eye on Felicity so, when they indicated that Felicity was to haul herself in to the back of a Seahawk packed with other POs, Oliver had grabbed her elbow and directed her to follow him. Diggle was the brawn, the rational brawn for this op, Felicity, the brains and ears and Oliver, the passionately unreasonable brawn and the reluctant leader, command control. They were traveling separately from the rest of the SEAL team, being accompanied only by the sea bags that had been stacked carefully in the back. Two other Seahawks were transporting the rest of Oliver’s team. Diggle’s Special Forces team was waiting at Outpost Murphy to begin tactics training, specific to capturing Merzad, upon their arrival.

One of Felicity’s duffle, containing her newly issued desert uniforms and not much else, was wedged under her seat. She unconsciously kept checking that it was still there. She was sat next to Oliver, opposite Diggle, all the jump seats bar theirs had been collapsed down to make room for the bags.

“Scared, Petty Officer Smoak?” Oliver’s voice came over headphones that muffled the vibrating whirr of the rotor blades.

“With all due respect, sir, I became a sailor for a very specific reason,” she grimaced as the helicopter dropped slightly and recovered.

“And what was that?”

“No flying.”

She could see him grin widely behind the microphone pressed to his lips and she smiled back.

The helicopter dropped again and Felicity hissed a curse that Oliver couldn’t quite hear.

They both happened to glance at Diggle in that moment. He had his backpack strapped to his front, his arms folded across it. His head was tipped back slightly and, wait, was he snoring?

“Are you kidding me?” Felicity exclaimed.

“What was that, sailor?” Diggle asked, one eye opened.

“Sir, it’s just, really? You can sleep on this death trap?”

“Smoak,” her last name seemed to pop in his mouth, “sleep when you can.”

Felicity took advantage of turning her microphone off. She was pretty sure the aircrew gave her this specific helmet so if she did decide to spend the six hour flight screaming, everyone else would be saved from the blood curdling cries over the droning ‘wokka wokka’ of the helicopter.

“Man of many words,” Felicity huffed to herself, looking down to re-check her bag again.

“Smoak, I can still hear you,” Diggle said and her head snapped up. He was peering out of one open eye, a smirk on his face.

She fumbled with the mechanism on the jump seat.

“Sorry, I’m so sorry. Sir, please, I’m very sorry.”

“The thing about this,” Oliver reached over and hit the intercom button again, “is that if you don’t turn it off to begin with, when you do go to turn it back on, you’re actually turning it off.”

“Sorry, sir,” she rushed, nodding respectfully at Diggle before turning to Oliver, “and you too, LT, I’m sorry.” 

“It’s okay, Petty Officer,” Oliver assured her.

“Am I going to have to kill somebody, sir?” she whispered, biting her bottom lip in case it started quivering.

“No, Felicity, not if I can help it,” he sounded like he meant it.

“What did Captain Waller mean by a duty conscience gap on the bridge earlier today then?”

“What she means, Smoak,” Diggle joined the conversation without opening his eyes, “is that if we happen to be attacked while road transporting, or if there’s an attack on Chapman or Murphy, your duty is to defend yourself and your fellow man, do not let your conscience get in the way.”

Felicity had never been in face-to-face combat. It was the nature of her particular specialty that she was not required to do such a thing. She had, however, had her hand in combat operations in a very real and tangible way. She was boarding party trained and had lost count of how many insertions she had taken part in. She had both her rifle and pistol marksmanship medal and wore the ‘expert’ device for both with additional pride. For her, it all came down to an understanding of science and math, however she was sure that Oliver and Diggle would disagree. She had fired her rifle in training under immense physical and mental pressure from her CO and his counterparts. She was sure she could employ the demanding levels of concentration should she need to.

But she was not a ruthless killing machine, nor could she ever imagine killing on command. In all her deployments she had never heard of anyone being or doing any of these thing. She supposed that soldiers were people. 

At the root of it all, everyone in the military was still a human being. They had to eat, they had to breathe, and they had to deal with the repercussions of their actions. Most of them had families in some capacity or another: a worrying mother, a wife to support, kids that are missing them when they were off fighting. Other things were inside their head before, during, and after combat that altered their perception, influenced their aptitude, and affected their motivations for doing what they did. 

She knew from a quick check into Diggle’s file that he had family at home. A wife, Lyla, who was in the navy, a surface warfare officer. She was currently not at sea because she was about four and a half months pregnant. He also had a sister in law, Carly, and a nephew, AJ. Oliver’s was a bit different, most of his was sealed and not even her security clearance could access it (four out of the fifteen men accompanying Oliver also had sealed records, their names inexplicable linked through a series of heavily blacked out reports). Oliver’s mother and father owned a billion dollar company and his younger sister, Thea, was working hard to learn the ropes. Thea was also engaged to one of the men that was on this mission, Roy Harper. Roy was a PO3 and worked in the communications area too. Roy, as a SEAL, rarely worked in the comms room. He kept current on the equipment, but was usually rested for ops. Oliver’s file listed a Dinah Laurel Lance as an on again/off again de facto spouse, but no children. 

She very quickly came to the conclusion that for all she’d heard, there was almost always a conflict between duty and conscience. 

Things she’d read in handbooks and papers were coming back to her. She remembered reading that the easiest way to bridge this gap, that is the one between duty and conscience, was the survival instinct. A pacifist, like herself, may find themselves very quickly throwing grenades when confronted by batteries of enemy machine guns turning everyone around them into jelly. 

Kill or be killed was undoubtedly a cliché, but it was a cliché for a reason: it was true.

“I’ve never met a “ruthless killing machine”,” Oliver made air quotes with his fingers, and Felicity jumped when she realised that perhaps she was muttering out loud. “And I haven’t met anyone who would, without hesitation, kill someone simply at the command of their superior. But if you are ordered, you shoot, Smoak.”

Across the aircraft, Diggle cleared his throat. Felicity had a split second thought that he was scoffing at the inside knowledge of something that she was not privy to. Knowledge of Oliver and his sealed military record? The two men appeared comfortable with each other. Were they old friends? Maybe they had just run a lot of operations together? That still didn’t solve the mystery of why Diggle scoffed in the first place. Had either of them had to kill on command and thought no more of it? Was she just being completely irrational and creating scenarios in her head?

”Camaraderie is a powerfully motivating factor in combat,” Diggle interrupted her manic train of thought. “When those around you are in danger, there is a natural instinct to protect them that overrides the survival instinct and, therefore, the duty conscience gap. I expect you’ll come to see what I mean.”

A silence lapsed between them, until Felicity turned abruptly to Oliver.

“I am just a little confused, though, sir,” she started.

Oliver turned to her, raising an eyebrow in question.

“I just,” she fidgeted, “I know that SEAL teams are a men only type gig, as are the Special Forces, so I’m just a little curious as to, you know, why you couldn’t have…”

“Taken someone else, a male, from CIC?”

“Well, yeah,” Felicity shrugged.

“Because, you’re a CIS AND a CSO,” Oliver explained, “like we explained on the bridge this morning, it’s really important we keep numbers to a minimum.”

“But I’m a woman.”

“You’re not actually joining my SEAL team, Felicity,” Oliver insisted, “if anything, you are technically on exchange with the Army, fulfilling a comms position required with Diggle’s unit."

“But I’m still a woman.”

“You won't get any special treatment and I think you can do both jobs effectively enough to run that risk of introducing a female to Outpost Murphy.”

“So, you think there’s a risk?”

Oliver turned away and folded his arms across his chest, settling in and closing his eyes. It was a clear an indication as any that the conversation was over. Felicity should have let it go.

Instead, “I don’t feel like that’s good enough.”

“It’s your orders, Smoak,” Diggle replied hardheartedly, “You take them, and don’t argue.”

She wriggled, settling in her seat for a few seconds before she straightened up and cocked her head to the side.

“Wait, where is this helicopter taking us? It’s not got the fuel to get us to Chapman.”

Oliver chuckled, his eyes still closed, shaking his head.

“We’re meeting up with the USS Theodore Roosevelt in the Gulf of Oman, we’re staying overnight on-board before we get bumped to FOB Chapman,” Oliver explained.

“The aircraft carrier?”

“The one and only,” Diggle grinned.

“So, when you say ‘bumped’…?

“COD,” Oliver said.

“Carrier onboard delivery?”

The two men nodded.

“Another plane?” Felicity moaned, exasperated.

“Petty Officer,” a new voice came in to the conversation, one of the pilots, “technically speaking, this is a helicopter.”


	4. To Speak Out Of Turn

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I said that things were about to get underway, however, once I divided the story up a little better, we're one or two chapters away from the exciting stuff. So bear with me.
> 
> Also, in this chapter, Oliver references FOB Chapman, which is an American Forward Operating Base in Afghanistan. Outpost Murphy, however, has been made up by yours truly for the purpose of this fic.
> 
> Also, this is where I start to get a little out of my league in terms of my knowledge on certain topics. But, you know, creative license and all that.

The USS Theodore Roosevelt was a small town in and of itself. Being one of the largest warships used by the Navy, it was the floating, temporary home to over five thousand people. More than half of them were sailors, then there was the air wing, the special operations teams (either Marines or SEALs) and the officers. With its 18 decks, four aircraft elevators and 90+ aircraft, it monstered the USS Zephyr in every possible way. The Zephyr was small, lucky to carry one aircraft, and never more than 30 people, enlisted personnel, officers, special ops and air wing all included.

Felicity had never spent much time on an aircraft carrier and was certain that she was going to get lost. 

And she did.

She was twenty minutes late to her meeting with Diggle, Oliver and Amanda, having gone a deck up when she should have gone a deck down, and ending up on the wrong side of the ship.

Amanda Waller was an awe-inspiring officer. That is, if the awe she inspired from you was to turn and run in the opposite direction every time her cold, cunning eyes settled on you.

Somewhere deep in the aircraft carrier Oliver, John and Felicity sat in on a video conference call with the captain. Her stoic and silent image was projected onto the wall and made her larger than life and therefore, that much more intimidating. The two Special Ops men in the room with Felicity didn’t seem bothered.

“We are leaving on Grumman Greyhound tomorrow morning for COD to Khost Air Strip in the Khost province,” Oliver explained to Felicity, making general grand gestures at a grainy satellite images.

“And the airstrip is where…?” Felicity asked.

“That’s at FOB Chapman. We’re there for two days before we road transport to Outpost Murphy.”

“Where the other SEAL team is?”

“Yes,” Diggle spoke up, “along with the rest of my team, and a skeleton crew to keep the base running.”

“How many people are there?”

“Chapman?”

“No, sir, Murphy.”

“No more than sixty.”

“That’s, um, cosy.”

“Well yeah, unfortunately, you’ll be sharing living quarters with the SEALs and berets but will be provided with your own room.”

“How generous,” she smiled sarcastically.

“Problem, Petty Officer Smoak?” Amanda asked, clasping her hands in front of her on the table.

Felicity paused and look around the table, first catching Oliver’s eyes, his face going red from what she was pretty sure was him trying to telepathically wave her off. Secondly, she met Diggle’s steady gaze. He almost imperceptibly shook his head, his lips pursed.

Fuck it, she thought, and opened her mouth to potentially shit all over her military career before she’d even really had one.

“There have been case studies about inserting a female soldier and or sailor into a camp which was once entirely dominated by males. It showed that thirty five per cent of males became distracted from the importance of their mission, another thirty five per cent garnered a lot of hate towards the female in the camp, mainly because she had her own dorm and own facilities, a further twenty nine per cent admitted to spying on the female in these designated rooms and bathrooms, while in one per cent of all cases of there being a single female on base there is a sexual misconduct case brought against at least one of the males that the female has found herself in close proximity with,” Felicity rounded off and drew in a much needed breath.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Oliver groan inwardly and literally face palm himself, while Diggle’s shoulders shook as he chuckled.

“At Murphy where, need I remind you, you are in the middle of a combat zone, there are no such luxuries afforded to you,” came the terse reply, “Lieutenant Queen has explained that you will be sharing living quarters with the rest of the SEALs and Berets, and, while you will be living in a single dorm, you will not be provided with a private bathroom, simply because they are in such small demand as it is.”

“I understand that, ma’am,” Felicity replied, trying to hold her tongue and remain respectful towards the officer projected on to the big screen, “I did read the posting order thoroughly.”

“Any other problems you see with your deployment to Outpost Murphy?” Amanda Waller asked in a tone that dared Felicity to continue to speak her mind.

“Well-”

“Smoak,” Oliver hissed with his teeth clenched.

“I just think, ma’am, that I, as a Petty Officer First Class, will not have the respect from others involved in this mission. I feel the fact that I’m a woman makes men ranked the same or below me consider me to be unequal, lower ranked than them.”

Felicity heard a string of expletives being expelled in a rush of air from Oliver’s mouth.

“So, you want a temporary promotion?” Waller raised an eyebrow that wholeheartedly expressed her thoughts on the idea.

Felicity sat still momentarily, then, all in a split second, her mouth fell open, her eyes bugged out and she unconsciously pushed the chair back from the table, as if trying to distance herself from the words that had left her mouth.

“Oh, good god, no, I just, ma’am, I’m incredible sorry, I did not mean to speak out of turn,” she rushed. “Well, I did, but, shit, I didn’t, I am just not feeling particularly well looked after when it comes to my crash posting to Outpost Murphy, I feel more like an afterthought, something being shoved in the corner and saved for when it’s needed, and I feel that as the main CIS AND CSO, not to mention the solo female on this party, I should be provided the feeling of security and protection-”

“Security and protection in a red hot war zone, Petty Officer Smoak?”

“YES, MA’AM!” Felicity stood up, slamming her hand on the desk, feeling a scarily uncontrollable rage boiling up inside of her. “I am not asking for protection from the enemy, MA’AM, I am well aware and well prepared for the threat of attack by RPG or other such weaponry, the protection I seek is that from my fellow countrymen!”

“PETTY OFFICER SMOAK!” Oliver exclaimed, jumping to his feet and roaring with such ferocity that Felicity’s temper was reduced to a simmer in an instant.

Oliver rounded the corner of the table and grabbed Felicity’s arm, hauling her bodily out of the small conference room into the corridor, almost collecting a timid Seaman Apprentice on the way.

“Keep walking!” Oliver shouted at the young man who stopped and made to salute.

“Y-yes, sir,” he stammered and ran the length of the corridor.

“Lieutenant Queen, I’m so-”

He shushed her, so flabbergasted by the sheer sass and reckless display of courage and spirit that he could do nothing but raise a single finger to silence her and breathe heavily out his nose.

Felicity pursed her lips and stood at attention, her fists balled at her sides.

If Lieutenant Oliver Queen was honest with himself, Felicity’s concerns remarkably mirrored his own. He had already sat down with the fifteen SEAL team members on this undertaking and expressed that under no circumstances was anyone to make a pass, spread a rumour or say anything that could be remotely misconstrued as sexual harassment towards the young sailor. Anyone that did so, would not only be judged in military court, but have their ass handed to them by the Lieutenant.

“Just, return to your quarters, I’ll handle Captain Waller,” he eventually said.

Felicity nodded robotically.

“Make sure you get some chow tonight, rack out early, enjoy your last full night’s sleep for a while,” he instructed her.

She nodded again, “I’m really sorry, sir.”

“It’s fine, Petty Officer, I have the same concerns for your safety and well being at Murphy, I expect to have it under control, but if you have problems, you come and see me first.”

“Yes, sir, thank you, sir,” she gave a brief salute and squeezed past the lieutenant.


	5. A Tremendous Miscalculation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was looking for a reason to give Felicity a massive rant, for her to have a need to justify her being in Afghanistan to idiots who think it's not right. The little speech she gives is something that I found on Tumblr, although right now I cannot find the source for you.
> 
> Next chapter is when all the action kicks off. Thanks for hanging around so long.

The bump to Forward Operating Base Chapman went without much fanfare. Felicity sat clutching, white knuckled, at the sides of her seat as they made their descent to Khost Airstrip. 

“Hey,” Oliver touched her arm, “relax.”

She nodded, stopped chewing the inside of her cheek and stretched her fingers, a dull ache receding.

The plane touched down heavily and the noise of the reverse thrusters filled the cabin. Felicity tried to peer out of the window but she wasn’t quite tall enough. The plane stopped in the middle of the tarmac and they were unloaded right then and there.

“No shuttle bus?” Felicity asked.

Oliver side eyed her with a smirk on his face as they threw their bags out the door and then followed them. Felicity hauled one of her bags onto her back and then wrapped her arms around the other, carrying it awkwardly. 

“You make things look difficult,” Oliver stated.

“I know,” Felicity shrugged.

“Do you want me to take one?” 

“No, I can do it, no special treatment for me,” she replied, a little anger laced her tone.

“We’re bunking in a tent for the two nights here, it’s almost dinner time, so we’ll dump and run to the chow hall,” Diggle spoke up so that everyone who had just arrived could hear him. 

Felicity straggled behind the group to a set of tents that were open and airing. She was taking in everything she could. There were hundreds of aircraft, both fixed wing and rotor wing, on the base. There were CHUs everywhere. Chapman was most commonly referred to as CHUville because of all the Containerised Housing Units that were constructed there. She could see the chow hall, the outside area netted with camouflage. 

“Smoak!” Diggle called, motioning for her to hurry up, “this is your rack.”

He indicated an area of the tent that was curtained off with canvas to afford her some semblance of privacy.

“What happened to no special treatment?” she asked Diggle, and turned to glare at Oliver as he approached.

Diggle and Oliver glanced at each other. Oliver grabbed the canvas sheet with one hand and tore it from where it was hanging, dumping it unceremoniously at the foot of the bed.  
“Thank you, sir,” she nodded and dropped her bags on top of the crumpled material.

Oliver nodded and then turned to address everyone in the tent

“Let’s grab some dinner!” 

Felicity was aware of all the eyes on her as she entered the dining hall and joined the end of the line that was moving at a decent rate. Oliver and Diggle were deep in conversation, oblivious to everything around them, and were stood a few people in front of her so she quietly waited, taking a few steps every now and then. A few young soldiers jostled in the line behind her, laughing and throwing insults at each other.

“First time I’ve seen one so young and pretty come here,” she heard one of them say.

“They’re usually old and fat,” someone laughed.

“Wonder why she’s here,” another added.

“Wonder where she’s staying,” the first one replied, as if that was the most important thing.

"Back off," she seethed over her shoulder.

"Uh oh, look out boys," the cocky petty officer jibed, "looks like this one is riding the crimson tide."

Laughter rippled across the cafeteria and Felicity was aware that nearly everyone was watching, waiting to see what happens next.

That did it for Felicity, she spun around and glared at them.

"Excuse me?" She dared him, not giving him any ground when he stepped up in her space again.

"This is why women can't be front line active, their hormones get all out of whack and their emotions run wild," he said, loudly enough for the whole attentive audience to hear.

"Even if a girl is emotional because she's on her period doesn't mean it's a particularly good idea to call her out on it," she spat.

"Oh yeah?"

"Let me tell you, Petty Officer, when I'm openly bleeding I have enough rage and appetite to eat my weight in chocolate and I can probably eat you too, so," Felicity took a step closer to him, making sure she made him really uncomfortable, "BACK THE FUCK UP!

-

Oliver was only half listening to Diggle, his ears tuning in to something happening behind them. He was aware that the atmosphere in the hall had changed, everyone was watching something unfold.

“There’s been some problems reported on the approach to Murphy,” Diggle explained, “intel is suggesting that-”

“BACK THE FUCK UP!” came Felicity’s scream.

“One moment,” Oliver rushed, stepping past Diggle and rushing towards the blonde who was toe to toe with a six foot something Petty Officer Third Class.

“Petty Officer Smoak,” Oliver approached the very furious looking Felicity, squaring his shoulders to the four boys she was facing, “is everything okay?”

She looked at Oliver with what could only be described as her best furiously angry face then back at the group of PO3s as if to indicate that they were the source of all her problems. Oliver regarded them, hoping that his officer lapels were visible.

“No, everything is not okay,” she vented, “but, you’d probably do well to ask the young Petty Officers here what the problem is, considering that my having any involvement in the conversation wouldn’t be right because I have a vagina and may or may not be on my period.”

Oliver turned to who he thought was the leader of the pack, “Petty Officer?” he asked, demanding an explanation.

“Sir, I-” but that was as far as he got before Oliver flung him onto the closest table, his left arm pulled up and back as Oliver’s other hand pushed his face into the table.

“You so much as even look at Petty Officer Smoak again, and I will end your military career,” he spat through gritted teeth. “Do I make myself clear

“Y-yes, sir,” he stammered.

“Good,” Oliver pushed off the PO3, making sure to dig his fingers in a little more. He turned to Felicity who was looking at him, mortified.

“As you were!” came Diggle’s booming voice. 

And just like that, like they were in a movie, the hustle and bustle of the cafeteria picked up again, people started talking, plates were being slid across tables, pieces of cutlery clinked against each other.

“Are you okay?” Oliver asked.

“Mhmm,” Felicity managed, “I, um, I’m just not hungry.”

And with that, she turned and left the food hall.

-

“Smoak?” Oliver ducked as he entered their tent.

“Sir?” she looked up from a file.

“Are you-”

“I can stand up for myself, Oliver,” she spat.

“I understand that, Smoak,” he moved to sit next to her, “but, I told you on the Roosevelt, when somebody, anybody, from any branch of the military, dares to say something to you based on your gender, especially something as stupid as the age old PMS call, I will make it my business, I will go out of my way to stomp all over anything as petty as that.”  
“I had it handled,” she replied, still defiant.

“Felic- I know,” he soothed, “please, I know.”

“What have you got there?” Felicity asked, and Oliver saw that she was motioning to something sticking out of his pocket.

“Well,” he started, “I had this theory, well, actually, an experiment, that I wanted to run, to see if you really could, you know, eat your weight in chocolate, so I snaffled this out of the store room.”

He pulled a block of chocolate from his pocket and held it out to her, watching her face break into a smile. 

“It’s a start, right?”

“I want to do right by this posting,” she took the chocolate bar and opened it, “I want to prove to people that I am capable of doing two jobs, I am capable of holding my own, capable of working in the front line, in a combat zone.”

“I only recommended you for this because I thought you’d do exactly that,” he offered.

“I am strong enough for this, sir, maybe not quite physically, but mentally, I can deal with this,” she assured him.

He lent forward and she unconsciously lent towards him, as if he were about to say something riveting, only he didn’t know it yet.

“To say you are not strong,” he started, his voice low, “to consider you weak, Felicity Smoak, would be a tremendous miscalculation.”


	6. The First Casualty of War

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally, Felicity and the guys are on their way to Outpost Murphy. HURRAH! 
> 
> This will probably be the last update until at least the weekend.
> 
> My partner is back from a six month deployment tomorrow and to say that I'm a little excited and emotional to see his handsome face would be an understatement of epic proportions.
> 
> Thanks again for reading, let me know what you think.

“Ten mikes, guys,” the driver yelled into the back of the Humvee. 

Oliver nodded his acknowledgement and turned to Felicity. 

“How you doing, Sailor?”

Felicity gave him an ‘okay’ hand signal in return. It was stuffy in the back of the vehicle. She regretted wearing the green and black scarf that Lieutenant Commander Merlyn had recommended she take. Her helmet was sliding down her forehead and resting on her sunglasses. Oliver looked the perfect soldier, his dark sunglasses sat perfectly on his face. They both had their rifles slung over their shoulders and pointing down to the floor but the sheer size of Oliver in comparison to the rifle made Felicity feel inept.

“Is there a reason we’re going so fast?” she stretched up to whisper in Oliver’s ear. The convoy of ten transport vehicles were tearing along the dirt road at an alarming pace.

“An aircraft was doing some surveillance earlier and spotted a group of men in the area,” Oliver explained. 

And, just like that, the first car in the convoy turned into a ball of fire. The other vehicles screeched to a halt. 

“Shit,” Oliver rushed.

“We’re staying in,” the driver ordered, in communication with the other drivers.

Felicity did admittedly feel safer being ordered to remain in the vehicle. But when there were explosions to their immediate left and then the chinking of bullets bouncing of the Humvee, Felicity wanted to bail out right then and there. She did not want to be a sitting duck.

The second car was flipped on to its side, possibly by an RPG or IED.

“Out, out, out!” Oliver yelled to everyone in the car, before turning to Felicity, “Stick with me.”

They bailed out and took cover on the driver’s side of the car.

“Safety off, Petty Officer,” Oliver ordered, and Felicity flicked the small lever on her rifle. 

He watched her take a deep breath, steadying the rifle on the bonnet of the car. She breathed out slowly, her mouth an ‘o’ shape.

Oliver peered around the back of the car, there were a lot of men coming out of hiding. They had a variety of weapons, mostly guns, although he spotted a few rocket launchers. 

“Has anyone radioed Murphy?” he fingered the talk button clipped to his collar.

“Yep, Apaches are incoming, followed by BlackHawks for medical evacuation.”

“Incoming!” he heard a shout both in his ear and in the air around him. There was a whoosh, and then silence.

Oliver felt the impact twice. Once from the initial explosion and again when, a split second later, Felicity crash tackled him into the side of the Humvee.

“Sir,” Felicity was shaking him. A cut on her head was bleeding profusely and she pushed the cascade back into her hairline.

“I’m good, Sailor, I’m good,” he assured her, helping her up.

“I’m hit and exposed,” a voice was broadcast through their earpieces.

Felicity’s head turned wildly, trying to locate who it was and where they were. Oliver’s hawk eyes zoned in on him around the same time as Felicity’s.

“Cover me, Lieutenant,” she briefly turned back to him.

“Smoak, no, that’s an order,” he grunted, moving to collar her.

But Felicity was moving faster. She made the length of their vehicle in no time, pausing by the wheel well. She checked for the enemy and with a “moving” she was off.

Oliver sprinted to cover her.

“Felicity, back!” he roared, watching her frog walk to where a solider lie bleeding profusely. 

-

Felicity’s legs shook as she scrambled on her hands and knees towards the PO3 nearby.

She grabbed one strap of his vest and dragged him twenty metres to the relative safety of behind the truck.

“Buchanan,” she spied the name on his chest, despite the strip being covered in blood.

“Ma’am,” he stammered, bubbly blood coming out of his mouth.

“It’s Felicity, call me Felicity,” she smiled comfortingly at him.

“That’s my sister’s name, ma’am,” he smiled too.

“You’re okay,” she insisted, searching the pockets of her utility vest for the small med kit.

“It’s not gonna do, Smoak,” Oliver whispered.

She glared at him for a second. He shrugged, silently conveying that Buchanan was probably done for. She wordlessly pleaded with Oliver, not for help, but for this to not be happening. Not on her first day.

Their stare was broken by Oliver, who stepped out from behind the vehicle to fire off a few shots. Meanwhile, Felicity frantically pulled off the scarf that had been threatening to choke her all morning. She quickly folded the giant piece of material in half twice and laid it over the mess that was Buchanan’s stomach, gently pressing against it.

He showed his displeasure at this action by howling and grabbing at her wrists.

“Please, Buchanan, please,” she persisted.

“Felicity!” Oliver called, “watch your left!” 

Felicity glanced under the truck and could see a pair of feet, not wearing issued boots. She had abandoned her rifle and it was too far away to scramble for it in time. She unclipped the small side arm from the holster on her thigh and flicked the safety off, positioning herself in front of Buchanan, prepared to defend the young soldier to the grave.

The man rounded the front of the vehicle and Felicity made sure she was ready. The minute she had a clear shot, she pinned one in his chest and another in his head as he went down.

She clipped the safety back on and re-holstered it.

“Fuck that,” she hissed, turning back to Buchanan, who was paler than before. “You’re good, you’re good.”

The chop of rotor blades through the air registered on her peripheral and she looked around. A few of the guys from other cars were sporting small gunshot wounds, mostly on their arms and shoulders. She was acutely aware of all the bodies that lay on the other side of the convoy, mostly those of their enemy. She absently hoped that everyone was okay. The first Humvee was still burning, the second one was being toppled back onto its wheels by the more able soldiers.

Buchanan grabbed her thigh, his firm grip heartening Felicity just that little bit. She found herself pushing organs back inside the cavity of his torso and he squeezed her leg tightly once more. She looked at him.

“Thank you, ma’am,” he coughed, tears in his eyes.

“You are more than welcome,” she smiled with trembling lips, a gloved hand going to caress his face.

The Apaches wiped out the remaining enemy in seconds, circling in a predatory manner and then climbing to cover the inbound BlackHawks. 

They landed and Felicity was relieved that they came rushing over to her and Buchanan first. Oliver was helping to ensure the area was secure. She held Buchanan’s hand tightly as soldiers wearing medic armbands lifted her makeshift wound dressing.

“Buchanan,” someone shook him, then went to check his pulse.

They loaded him on a stretcher and, along with Felicity, rushed him towards the helicopter.


	7. Sickbays and Shower Sheds

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a little filler until I edit the next chapter and post it. That should happen in the next few days. 
> 
> Thanks for all the well wishes and for your continued reading. Muchly appreciated.

Oliver walked into the tented sick bay at FOB Chapman, willing anybody to challenge his need to be in there. All the curtained cubicles were in use and the small operating room at the end had a "NO UNAUTHORISED ENTRY" sign stuck across the bifold doors.

"Lieutenant," a young man (a boy, really) at the front desk quickly saluted him. "Do you need to be seen?"

"No, I already have been, I wanted to check in on Petty Officer Smoak?" He leaned on the makeshift counter.

"She's just being seen by a medical midshipman, sir, she won't be long."

"What cubicle?" 

"Sir," the PO tried to reason.

"What cubicle?" Oliver barked.

"Seven, sir," the petty officer's shoulders rounded in defeat.

"Thank you, Petty Officer," a fake smile lit Oliver's face as he turned and strode towards the cubicle.

"Petty Officer?" He stopped short of flinging the curtain open.

"Sir," she replied instantly.

He parted the curtains and found Felicity sitting on the edge of the bed, an officer concentrating on putting stitches in her hairline.

"Forgive my lack of salute, sir, I am otherwise indisposed," his voice was strained as he looked down the nose of his glasses at his handiwork.

"Not a problem," Oliver sighed, the fingers of one hand twitching at his side.

He turned to Felicity. "How are you, Petty Officer?" 

"Fine, sir," she fidgeted slightly.

"Please, Felicity," the midshipman hissed, "sit still."

Oliver couldn't help the small grin on his face as Felicity pressed her lips together apologetically.

"How is Buchanan?" She asked, and the hope in her voice broke Oliver's heart.

"Felicity," he spoke softly.

"It's fine, sir, I'm not surprised."

He made himself comfortable on the bed next to her and they sat in silence as the doctor continued to stitch the wound on her head.

"Last one," he eventually said, sitting up straight and cracking his neck.

"Thank you, sir," Felicity replied automatically.

"That's okay, they can get wet, and I understand you'll want to wash your hair and face, but I will need to check on it in a couple of days. If your shoulder starts to bother you, just go to the sick bay at Murphy and see anybody for some pain relief," he explained.

Felicity nodded once more, offered a salute and left the cubicle.

"Shoulder?" Oliver turned back to the midshipman.

"She had a partial dislocation when she came in," he explained.

"From dragging Buchanan?" 

"No sir, this is from an impact, it's a common footballers injury, like a tackle."

Oliver had a brief flashback to when Felicity tackled him away from the IED. He pursed his lips and sighed heavily out of his nose.

"Thank you," Oliver nodded and left without receiving the curt salute offered by his subordinate.

"Felicity," he jogged to catch up, "Fe-li-city." Catching a hold of her just above her elbow she finally stopped.

"Sir, I just, I really just want to shower, wash away this mess," she insisted.

"Alright, come on," he still had a hold of her elbow as they headed towards the waiting helicopter.

"How are you, sir?" She asked.

"Probably a damn site better than your shoulder," he spat, more viciously than he intended.

"Sir, I-" Felicity stammered

"Why didn't you tell me about it?"

"Well, sir, first of all, it didn’t seem particularly pressing at the time," she started.

"You inform your commanding officer of-"

"And secondly," Felicity interrupted his reciting of some long forgotten protocol, "I didn't even realise my shoulder was out until I went to take off my comms in the sick bay and couldn't lift my arm above my head."

Oliver cleared his throat indignantly as he let go of her arm and they fell in step with each other.

"What happens with Buchanan's body, sir?" Felicity asked absently.

Still walking in sync with each other he found that when he slowed down, so did she. 

Oliver withheld his answer as he helped Felicity into the back of the helicopter. They sat down on the two remaining seats, the others filled with soldiers who had required similar medical attention to Felicity.

"They'll prep him to return home, we'll have a ramp ceremony, probably in the next couple of days, he'll be COD'd back to Roosevelt then onwards to his home port, where there'll be a small ceremony, before they go on to the cemetery for a full military service," he explained, his voice steady and unemotional.

“Will we get to attend the ramp ceremony?”

Oliver pursed his lips regretfully. “Unfortunately, Smoak, there’s too much to get you up to date with before we start going outside the wire, I’ll think we’ll have to miss it.”

"His family?" She asked.

"They're being notified as we speak," he assured her.

"How often does that happen?" she turned her face to him, but didn't make eye contact.

"Somebody is killed?" he asked.

"Well, yes, but also, how often does a convoy come under attack like that? The base?"

"It’s all variable, Smoak. It all depends. There are so many factors."

Felicity fell silent and Oliver observed her out of the corner of his eye, chewing on her lip and constantly reaching up to touch the stitches.

The helicopter flight was fast, twenty minutes at the most and Oliver ushered everyone out of the helicopter before helping Felicity jump down.

"We'll just swing by our cubes, you can see where your room is, I'll grab you a towel and a wet pack," Oliver gently steered her towards the container ship dorms. 

"Petty Officer Smoak!" Somebody called across the open ground.

Commander Steele was running towards her.

"I'll grab your things, be back in a minute," Oliver said, turning to leave before Walter reached them. He jogged to the dorms, pushing through the swinging access door. 

Music was blaring from Roy's room, he'd already settled in nicely. Felicity's room, up the end and across the hall from his own, was empty save for the two duffle bags dropped unceremoniously in the middle of the room. 

A well-meaning EO3 had dumped linen and a towel on the end of the bed. Oliver grabbed the towel and then rifled through her bags for a toiletries bag. He found it, in all its pink and yellow polka dotted glory. 

Her door swung closed behind him and he moved effortlessly to Roy's room.

"Harper?" He yelled over the music.

Roy stumbled out of the plastic desk chair and, after righting the chair and himself, raised a hand to salute Oliver.

"Sir," he started.

"I need Smoak's bed made before you go to the chow hall," he ordered.

"Sir."

Oliver crossed to where Felicity and Walter were still talking. Walter appeared to be doing most of the talking, Felicity staring far off into the desert behind him, nodding distractedly every now and again.

"Felicity?" Oliver touched her arm once she reached them. She turned her head slowly to meet his gaze.

"Has she been seen by the psych?" Walter asked.

"She doesn't need the psych," Oliver snapped, "She needs a shower."

Walter looked set to tear Oliver a new one for his small bout of insubordination but, before he could, Oliver snapped to attention, gave him a sarcastic but professional salute and gently led Felicity away, reaching the shower shed in under a minute.

Oliver sat Felicity on a small wooden seat and then strode along the line of showers, flinging open the curtain, revealing men is various stages of nakedness and soapiness.

“Everybody, haul ass outta here, now!” he bellowed.


	8. Racking Out

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all the comments on the last chapter! I had a lovely couple of days with my darling, and now it's back to the reality of work! 
> 
> This chapter has a POV change that is indicated by a simple '-'. That's how it will be denoted throughout the whole thing.
> 
> Happy reading!

_“Everybody, haul ass outta here, now!” he bellowed._

* * *

“Sir,” someone dared to protest.

“AT THE RUSH! NOW!”

The shower shed was cleared in less than thirty seconds and Felicity’s bottom lip quivered as Oliver squatted down in front of her.

“Come on, Sailor, wash off,” he insisted gently, pulling at the cuffs of her black neoprene gloves. Her hands were spotless, a creamy white, but her wrists were ringed in red and Oliver flashed back to her literally elbows deep in Buchanan’s stomach, trying to contain the mess.

He helped her out of her vest and cover jacket before unlacing her boots for her, gently coaxing them off her feet. She pulled her hair out of its already loose braid and her shoulders rounded in defeat as she leaned over to take her socks off.

“You did good today, Smoak,” Oliver realised he was being slightly condescending but he had to say something to the shell-shocked woman in front of him.

“Thank you, sir,” she replied flatly, her face void of any emotion.

“I’ll leave you to it,” Oliver placed a hand on her shoulder.

As he turned to leave, Felicity made a grab for his wrist.

“Sir, please don’t leave,” she sighed.

He paused, looking down at her. Her face and neck were smeared in blood, her sandy hair turned a strawberry blonde, she had a small cut next to her left eye, under the larger, sutured one. Where her undershirt hadn’t been covered by her jacket or vest, it was spattered with blood. 

He swallowed and nodded, sitting down next to her. 

“I didn’t even know his first name,” she shrugged.

“Patrick,” Oliver replied.

Felicity nodded and used his thigh to help her get up, groaning as she straightened. He held out her wet pack and a towel and she offered a meek smile. She picked the cubicle furthest from where Oliver sat and pulled the curtain across. 

Oliver heard the zip on her trousers and a shuffle as she pulled them off. She flung the bloodstained pants over the side of the cubicle, and quickly followed it with her t-shirt, bra, thermals and underwear. He could see her bare shoulders, cloaked intermittently by her hair. 

He chose to look away as she turned towards him. The taps squeaked and he heard the shower head protest and eventually relent as water began to trickle from the hose.

-

Felicity reached for the taps with shaking hands. The water was lukewarm but she stepped right under the dribble of water that was slowly gaining pressure. She scrubbed furiously at her arms and her face using the bar of soap that Oliver had stuffed in her wet pack. She was only just aware of the dull ache in her shoulder as she did so. She had no shampoo, having accidentally left it on the ship, so the soap helped wash the conflict from her hair too.

She stretched her neck, wincing as she counted it pop five times. She heard two or three voices outside and prayed they wouldn’t come in here, but the voices got closer and the swing door hinges squealed and announced their arrival.

“Get the fuck out,” barked Oliver and the hinges squeaked once more.

Felicity knew that showers were to be kept short but the water was warm and she just needed a little more time to persuade herself to get out. 

Just as she was about to turn the taps off, she heard the doors open again but instead of a roared order, Oliver offered the visitor a “Hey.”

“How’s she doing?” came Diggle’s voice.

Felicity couldn’t hear the reply.

“I grabbed her a change of kit from her rucksack,” Diggle explained.

Felicity pushed her head against the poorly tiled wall, the water running down her back. 

“Petty Officer?” came Oliver’s tentative inquiry.

“I’m almost done!” her voice betrayed the courage she was trying to depict, “Sorry sir, I know I’ve gone over the time limit.”

“It’s okay, Felicity, take your time.”

“Thank you, sir,” she sighed.

“Petty Officer?” he queried again.

“Sir?”

“I have some clean kit for you, do you want to just leave it outside your cubicle or…?”

“Ah,” Felicity fumbled with the taps, grabbed the towel for modesty and wrapped it around her body. To provide herself with extra propriety, she popped her head out from behind the curtain.

Oliver smiled at her.

“I can take them.”

He held them out to her and she awkwardly reached her arms through the small gap to take them.

“Thank you, sir,” she tried to sound as sincere as possible once the curtain fell closed again.

“Not a problem, Smoak,” he replied, a little sing songy, “I’ll be outside.”

Felicity dressed quickly in the jeans and polo shirt that Diggle had found in her bag. She appreciated him grabbing a collar, given that it was almost dinner time. It would save her changing again. As she pulled her boots on, she eyed a bit of blood on her wrist that appeared to have been missed in her scrub down.

She grabbed her towel and furiously scoured at the spot. It wasn’t until it started to sting that Felicity realised she had rubbed her skin raw. It was weeping a little and she held the towel over it.

She figured Oliver must have become worried after ten minutes had passed and she still hadn’t appeared because she heard the squeak of the doors and pretended to busy herself repacking her wet pack.

“Everything okay, Petty Officer?” It was Diggle, and Felicity was almost relieved.

“Mhmm,” she squeaked.

She exited the shower, zipping her boots up as she did so, with her wet pack under her arm and her towel over her shoulder. Diggle was stood at the other end, feet apart and arms folded across his chest.

She walked all the way up to him, but he wouldn’t get out of her way.

“Excuse me, Sergeant.”

He cleared his throat and moved both his hands to her shoulders.

“Are you okay, Petty Officer?” he asked, squinting at her.

“Not really, sir,” she chewed her lip.

Then Diggle did something that surprised her. He pulled her into his chest, his strong arms wrapped nearly twice around her. Felicity was panicked at first but soon softened up against him. 

She felt a sob escape and then she couldn’t hold it in. She was a whimpering, hiccuping mess and it felt like she was never going to be able to stop. The irrational thought of perhaps crying herself to death did cross her mind.

“We’ll grab some dinner, then you can rack out for the night,” he whispered.

“Thank you, sir,” she sniffed and pulled away.

“This Outpost runs at U-1 most of the time,” he offered her a small pistol, a magazine and a holster, “No body armour or helmet required, but you must have a weapon and a magazine of ammo on you between the hours of darkness.”

Felicity quickly strapped the holster to her right thigh and left the shower shed behind Diggle.

“All good, Sailor?” Oliver fell in step beside her.

“Sir.” 

"If you ever need to talk to someone," he trailed off.

She nodded and flashed what she hoped was a sincere smile.

With two branches of Special Ops flanking her, and the side-arm against her thigh, she felt safe for the first time in twenty four hours.

They ate the mess food in relative silence. Men that knew Diggle and Oliver came up to say hi, that it was good seeing them again, they hoped they’d get to work with them. Felicity excused herself with her last mouthful still sliding down her esophagus. 

She smiled timidly at Oliver and Diggle as she stood up.

“You racking out?” Oliver squeezed her arm, just above her elbow, gently.

“Yes, sir, I’m exhausted,” she replied and tears threatened to spill over again.

“Alright, PT at 0700?” he raised an eyebrow.

“Roger.”

She dumped her food tray on the trolley, thanked the E3 working there and left the chow hall. It was a short walk back to the tin shed that housed eight rooms. She looked at the names written in chalk next to the doors. Ramirez, Holliday, Wallace, Diggle, Harper, Patton, Queen, Smoak.

She sighed with relief as she pulled her jeans off, shuffling in to a pair of tracksuit pants. She replaced her polo shirt and bra with a grey singlet. She pulled a pair of winter socks on, unable to sleep with bare feet. The temperature dropped dramatically over night, or so she’d been told, so she pulled a hoodie on. She climbed into the small bed, burritoed herself in the doona and was asleep in minutes.


	9. Meals Ready to Eat and Freeze Dried Coffee

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hurrah! Another chapter! 
> 
> My schedule is pretty full for the next five days, so take this as a promise that I will return!

Aircraft and the general chatter of men woke Felicity from her sleep. She had been stirring for the past fifteen minutes but, after poking her hand out earlier, she decided to stay wrapped up for a little longer.

She could hear people in her CHU moving around, waking each other up, and making breakfast plans. She wouldn’t have minded if people forgot that she was even there. She could stay curled up on the uncomfortable mattress for days. 

Determined to deny her a lie in, someone pushed her door open. She could tell, just by the way he breathed and his presence in the room, that it was Oliver.

“I’m up,” she sighed croakily, peering through one open eye.

He was still bleary eyed, his hair messy and cheeks flushed, as if he'd literally just woken up himself.

He nodded and left.

She got dressed in her running gear; a pair of navy blue shorts, and a pink singlet with her pink trainers. She tied her hair in a ponytail, her bedhead untameable, poked some contacts in her eyes and, no more than ten minutes after Oliver had woken her up, she was sprinting next to him, through the chow hall where they were greeted by lots of whooping and hollering, and then around the perimeter of the base.

"Laurel wants to take a break," Oliver stopped suddenly. 

Felicity pulled up slowly, turned around and walked back to where Oliver stood with his hands on his hips, chest heaving.

"You're girlfriend?"

Oliver nodded.

"She told you this in an email?" She asked, bent over sucking in air with her hands on her knees.

"Nah, I managed to get a good enough on Skype, but, fuck me, it was not worth it," he explained.

"Huh?"

"She said before I took this posting that she couldn't deal with not hearing from me for weeks on end, at least on the ship I could email her every day," he shrugged.

"This isn't the first time you've taken a break," Felicity spoke it as more of a statement than a question.

Oliver's eyebrows crinkled. 

"Sorry, I, um, your file, it lists your relationship with Laurel as currently de facto, but, in the past, you've been on again off again," felicity rushed, "also, I wasn't snooping, just , um, trying to learn about who I was working with."

Oliver crossed his arms across his chest as Felicity trailed off. He raised his eyebrows as if to ask "are you done, Petty Officer?" and smiled as she squirmed.

"Sorry, sir," she cracked her knuckles.

"You got someone at home?" he asked after regarding her momentarily.

The nervous laugh that left Felicity's mouth in lieu of a scoff hinted that maybe she did. 

"Yes or no?"

Felicity cleared her throat, straightened her t-shirt and leveled a steady gaze at Oliver.

"No," she sighed, "Sir."

"It's a very frustrating process, being deployed and trying to maintain some semblance of a romantic relationship," Oliver explained.

"I'm sure," Felicity nodded.

Oliver sat down against the perimeter fence, glancing up at Felicity in a silent order for her to sit down too. She obliged, stretching her legs out in front of her.

Even in the early morning, the sun was reasonably high in the sky and, with not much in the way of shade, the wind was their only cooling option.

Felicity pulled her singlet away from her chest slightly, blowing air down her front to try and lower her core temperature. She realised too late that the gesture was slightly sexual and glanced over at Oliver, who had unconsciously leaned closer to her.

She cleared her throat and Oliver straightened up.

"You know Barry Allen?" She asked.

"The RO on Zephyr?"

Felicity nodded.

"Yeah, I know him, his cabin is opposite mine."

"We dated last year," Felicity blurted out.

"How'd that go?" A smile was tugging at Oliver's lips and Felicity imagined he was picturing the two of them, their awkwardness replicating at an alarming rate in each other's precise.

"Well, I went and got the posting of a life time, didn't I?" Felicity sighed sarcastically.

"Ah, Barry's been posted to Zephyr for three years, you've only been on for nine months," Oliver relayed to her, connecting the dots.

"Bingo," Felicity pointed at him.

"Sorry," Oliver whispered.

"Don't be. Now he's dating a civilian, no chance of personnel protocol getting in the way of that one," she sighed.

"I think that Laurel likes the idea of my being in the military," Oliver was pulling at a small tuft of grass, "it's convenient when we go to the balls, the excitement for my homecoming is great, but, it's when I'm actually doing my job that..."

"I understand," Felicity nodded. "My mum loves telling everyone what I do, but curses it when I miss family functions."

Oliver grunted.

"My job is a godsend,” Felicity laughed “I have never been able to conveniently miss a reunion like I have since I joined."

“Laurel has never forgiven me for convincing her sister to join,” Oliver shook his head.

“Her sister?”

“Sara Lance,” Oliver replied, shortly.

“No way?” Felicity asked exclaimed.

“The one and only.”

“I didn’t put two and two together, sorry,” Felicity smiled.

Oliver contemplated her, his face not giving anything away. Felicity could have sworn he was about to ask her another question, but instead he stood up, dusting the dirt off the back of his shorts.

“Come on, Felicity,” he held out a hand to help her up, “Munitions training today.”

“Breakfast?” she sprung to her feet.

“Of course,” he smiled, “What types of breakfast MREs have you tried before?”

“I, um, really?” Felicity stammered, skipping slightly to catch up to Oliver. “Are you serious?”

Oliver turned his head to her, an eyebrow raised.

“You’ve got the choice of the Breakfast Skillet, Scrambled Eggs with Bacon, or Granola and Blueberries,” Oliver grinned at her.

“Coffee?” she asked.

“Freeze dried?”

“My life is over,” she lamented, throwing her hands in the air.

“Wait until your lunch choices,” he lent towards her slightly.

The look on her face must have shown her true terror because his face broke into a stupid grin before he laughed loudly at her. It took him a few seconds to calm down and Felicity pouted at him.

“You are serious, aren’t you?” she squinted up at him.

“I’m sorry to piss all over your hopes and dreams, Petty Officer, but I am serious,” he informed her.

“I guess I’m going to learn to love granola and blueberries,” she shrugged.

“It’s my favourite, probably the healthiest, I’m very particular about what it is I put in my body when we’re on deployment,” he explained.

“I’ve noticed,” she nodded and then stopped, cringing. She heard Oliver stop a few steps ahead of her. Cracking one eye open, he was regarding her with a certain level of amusement. “I said not noticed, right?”

“We’ll hit the showers, get dressed and meet at the chow hall then we’ll head straight to the shooting range?” he suggested, as they neared their rooms.

“Sounds like a plan, sir,” she nodded.

“I want to get you working with my SEAL team too, learn how to move with them, learn the way we communicate, it’s important out here.”

“Sir.”

"Felicity?" his tone of voice had changed, "how are you doing after yesterday?"

She faltered, only slightly, but Oliver noticed.

"It's a weird feeling, isn't it?" he suggested, "You wake up the next morning and you're still not sure if it's real."

"I'm just not sure how I'm supposed to feel right now," she shrugged.

Oliver nodded. "That's SOP, sailor. When you do know how you feel, come and talk to me about it."

 

"I'm sure you've heard it all before, Felicity," Oliver was cleaning his pistol, taking it apart with practiced ease, "but, consider all weapons to be loaded at all times."

"Yes, sir."

"Never point a weapon at anything you do not want to put a bullet through."

"Yes, sir."

"Never put your finger on the trigger unless you want to shoot."

"Yes, sir."

"Know your target and what's behind it."

"Yes, sir."

“Why are you saying ‘yes, sir’ in such a sing songy voice?” Oliver asked, all of a sudden exasperated and annoyed.

“Have you actually read my file, sir?” she asked.

Oliver’s face lit up with a charming smile, very different from the smiles she had seen from him earlier that morning.

“No, Felicity, I haven’t, but I expect you’re about to make me wish I had?”

Felicity picked up the pistol that was on the bench of her range corridor. She pulled it apart and put it back together in less than a minute, a deep crease between her eyebrows showed her concentration. She grinned at Oliver as she jammed a magazine in to the bottom of the pistol before squaring her shoulders and firing at the target. Six rounds, in quick succession, hit the paper target. Once the magazine was empty, she used the pulley system to bring it forward. The paper was flowered in the middle. All six shots had hit within millimetres of each other. She spun to grin widely at Oliver.

“Well, colour me surprised,” he smiled back, stepping into her cubicle.

“Those couple of shots I got off yesterday weren’t flukes, I have my expert device on both the rifle and the pistol,” she shrugged, “it’s all mathematics.”

“It’s not all mathematics, Petty Officer,” Oliver chided, his voice gentle, but challenging, “when you are under fire from the enemy, heavy fire, close range fire, whatever, that is not mathematics, that is head,” he poked the middle of her brow, “and that is heart,” he poked her chest.

“I understand that, Oliver, I was just, you know, making a joke,” she shrugged.

“None of this is a joke, Felicity,” he argued.

“I have to make jokes, Oliver,” she reasoned, “I have to, or I will not make it through this deployment, especially if you want me to keep shooting people.”

“Alright,” he conceded, “show me how you clean your rifles.”

She huffed, putting her hands on her hips.

“Or not,” Oliver shrugged.

“Can we just go back to the chow hall and you know, coffee?”

“How much coffee do you drink?” Oliver asked. He had an eyebrow raised in concern but his mouth quirked in a smile.

“All of it, so much,” she giggled.

“Alright, Petty Officer, I’ll sign you off as competent for operational munitions,” Oliver allowed, stepping out of Felicity’s way and turning to walk with her to the chow hall.

“Just competent?” she scoffed.

“Well, it’s that or incompetent?” 

“Competent will do nicely, thank you, Lieutenant,” she smiled, grabbing his arm at his elbow with both hands, squeezing lightly.

Oliver cleared his throat, catching sight of people coming towards them. Felicity automatically dropped her hands to her sides, mimicking Oliver’s throat clearing and smiling at the E3’s she recognised from dinner last night. 

Then she spent the rest of the day wondering why they had both worried they were about to be caught doing something worth worrying about being caught doing.


	10. Mistakes and Misplaced Blame

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A few people were having a little trouble making sense of the acronyms that I've been using, so I thought I'd leave a key in the notes to reference back to. 
> 
> CHU: Containerised Housing Unit.   
> MRE: Meals - Ready to Eat. (they usually come packed like rations, in weird foil pouches that can be heated if that is what is required.  
> IED: Improvised Explosive Device.  
> SEAL: Sea, Air and Land Teams.  
> PO1: Petty Officer First Class  
> TOC: Tactical Operations Centre
> 
> I hope this is helpful...?

Three weeks passed at Outpost Murphy. Three weeks of early morning runs with the boys in her CHU. Of MREs for breakfast, lunch and usually dinner. Of stuffy rooms, damp laundry and crumby coffee. 

Felicity was becoming scarily used to the life that she was thrown in to. At the start of her second week, the small base had raised the security level to U-2, much to Felicity’s chagrin. It meant that all personnel were required to wear body armour, helmet and carry a weapon and magazine whenever they were outside a hardened building or trailer. This was to continue for another three weeks and was due to a number of near misses from vehicle borne IEDs. 

She’d been working with Oliver’s SEAL team, and occasional with the other team, to learn the ropes. It was very similar to her boarding party training, but SEALs were required to move a lot quieter, stealth and silence as well as a gradual insertion were one of their most useful tactics. Boarding party entries, on the other hand, were usually a loud and fast affair, a blur of activity.

Felicity was learning how to move with deliberate covertness, many of the training sessions taking part in the middle of night, much like many of the operations would. She learnt different hand signals. She needed to recognise and recall them in a split second, the operation and lives of the SEAL team depending on it.

The boys were patient with her, but she could sense their frustration when she missed a cue, or responded the wrong way to a hissed order.

“Bang, you’re dead,” was something she heard too often for her liking in the first week. But it got less and less, and it wasn’t always Felicity that ended up with the barrel of an unloaded gun pressed to her temple or in between her shoulder blades.

If someone messed up a training situation, burpees were required. If Felicity thought she was fit before this deployment, she was super woman now. The satisfying ache in her bones at the end of each day reminded her that she’d be considered, above everyone else, the best person for this job.

She had also become good friends with another PO1 by the name of Heath Patton, a sun blonde, hazel eyed boy from Fernandina Beach in Florida. He was a tall, handsome, muscly surfer who was insanely interested in computers, science, and pop culture. His big, baby wide eyes belied his stoic nature and levelheadedness. His favourite phrase was ‘dude’ or ‘dudette’ when he was talking to Felicity. Felicity and Heath shared a common wall in their CHU and Heath was a chronic insomniac and would stay up late listening to music. He wore headphones but Felicity could still hear it. She was surprised he had good enough hearing to have passed the medical to join the navy, especially the SEALs.

Felicity, along with Oliver’s SEAL team had been on night patrol for six nights, with one more before they could get back into a normal routine. Well, normal by any stretch of military imagination. 

They’d only engaged the enemy three times during their past couple of patrols, for which Felicity was particularly grateful. Two nights ago, they’d been hunkered on the side of a hill, as still as could be, for most of the night. They were drawing maps, writing up notes and taking photos for an operation that was being named Operation Sea Charger, thanks to the number of SEALs that had been pulled from operational sea deployments to take part. 

Felicity had spent most of the night sat on a pointy rock, the little bastard pushing into her left butt cheek all night long. Unable to shift positions, she had to grin and bear it.   
“You should bring it back to Murphy with you, Smoak,” Oliver had jibed in a hissed whisper, “just in case you need to stick it up your arse again, remind you of your new home.”  
“I’ll stick it up your arse,” she huffed over the comms and heard snickers in reply, forcing her to add a pleasant, “sir.”

Upon their return to Murphy, Heath had presented her with the rock. And she knew it was the rock, not just a random joke meant to taunt her discomfort. She could tell, just by touching it. The memory of its shape would be something she wasn’t likely to forget.

She’d stuffed the stupid rock into a pocket on her armoured vest, pouting good naturedly.

“Aw, come on, dudette,” Heath had wrapped his arm around her neck, pulling her in close and ruffling her hair, “it’s funny.”

“Uh huh, I might just put it under your position next time we go out,” she shoved him playfully.

“Don’t be like that,” he pleaded, his hands thrown out to his sides.

“I gotta get to work,” she smiled, “why don’t you try and get some sleep?”

“Huh, in my dreams,” he joked.

It was last night, though, that had changed their motivation and ideas of their night patrol. Two road side bombs had been activated as the team had approached a small village. The team had been too far away for it to have caused any serious injuries, the worst was a grazed palm that had been received upon hitting the deck. Felicity was in charge of the satellite interceptor, designed to block any cell phone calls made, and should have been able to jam the signal on the phone call that was placed to the device, but she wasn’t.  
She knew that Oliver was unhappy with her and, as soon as they returned, they disbanded and she disappeared before he could call her out on it. 

Oliver in command was always a revelation to her, because he was a different person, and a person she didn’t even know. The mellow, often goofy, cocky, laughing, loving, temperamental Oliver that she had come to know was not the same Oliver that she saw on the frontline.

And after the mess that they’d gotten in to last night, she knew he’d still be wearing his operational face, not his behind the wire face.

After passing through the chow hall to grab a cup of coffee and her usual MRE of granola and blueberries, she went straight to the Tactical Operations Centre to start going over their slow gathering intelligence and begin to form some sort of operations order. 

Diggle was there and she waved to him as she sunk into her seat. He acknowledged her but went straight back to pointing at the computer screen, a young man looking on eagerly.

She had just logged on to the DoD system when the door to the Tactical Operations Centre flew open.

“What happened?” Oliver asked, storming straight towards her.

“He’s using really advanced cellular technology to detonate his bombs,” she answered, “clearly his expertise extends to obscuring that signal.”

“Felicity,” Oliver started, still fuming, “your expertise is supposed to trump his.” 

“Excuse me?” she turned around in her chair, aware of Diggle moving closer to the two of them, “If you have something to say to me, Oliver, say it.”

She stood up and he closed in on her, they were toe to toe, nose to nose.

“People are dying,” he hissed, “So I would like you to pull your head out of Fernandina Beach and get back in the game.”

He turned to leave but Felicity couldn’t help herself.

“Sure,” she shrugged, “right after you get yours out of your ass.”

“Excuse me?” he spun back around, glaring down his nose at her, using his size to intimidate. His chin was thrust forward. That was his tell. The angrier he was, the more used his chin.

“All right,” Diggle interrupted, a little sing songy, “maybe we should just take a breath here.”

“No, wait, I want to know what exactly that crack about Fernandina Beach was meant to imply?”

“When the first bomb went off, that should have been an indication, but you sent us the wrong way,” he argued. “When the second bomb went off, you should have stopped the signal.”

“And this is after your ordered air strike didn’t kill him in the first place,” she threw irrationally, defensively.

“Don’t blame me because you didn’t have it last night,” he was still leaning over her, jaw pulsing.

“I made a mistake,” she folded her arms across her chest.

“Being insubordinate?” Oliver suggested. “I don’t disagree.”

“No,” Felicity stepped right up to Oliver, getting in his face, “accepting this position.”

She looked at Diggle and then back at Oliver, pushing past him.

“I need some air.”

-

Diggle watched Felicity storm out of the TOC, she didn’t seem upset, but she was certainly pissed off.

“At the risk of me getting my head knocked off,” Diggle came up beside Oliver, “playing the blame game isn’t going to catch this son of a bitch.”

“Neither is doing things half way.”

“Is that what you thinks going on here, Oliver? You think she was distracted? She wasn’t giving it her all?”

“She almost walked us into an IED, Diggle,” he justified, “what do you think?”

Diggle thought about his answer for a second. Giving it would really put him at risk of getting his head knocked off.

“I think,” he started, “you didn’t have a problem with Felicity’s performance until she started hanging out with Patton.”

Just as he was turning to leave, signifying an end to the heated discussion, he could have sworn he saw Oliver contemplate his answer and give a little nod.


	11. Between You and Me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 'Sup? 
> 
> Sorry for the long delay between updates, I swore I wouldn't leave it that long! I had a busy weekend catching up with friends and a whole lot of other uninteresting stuff that you probably don't want to hear about.
> 
> There's a little bit of something maybe unexpected in this chapter... I hope you enjoy it.
> 
> We pick up right where we left off at the end of the last chapter.

When Felicity had returned a little while later, Oliver and Diggle were gone.

She was so sleep deprived that, after collating the photographs and constructing printable maps from their sketches, she stared at a blank word document for the rest of the day. Those five required paragraphs that could essentially decide things for them in a life or death situation just would not come. She had the headings. Situation. Mission. Execution. Service and Support. Command and Signal. But that was it. She tipped her head from side to side, her eyes closed as she tried to corral some sort of productivity. 

In the end, she shut her laptop, pushed her chair in and left for her CHU, deciding an early dinner and then a power nap were required before tonight’s outing.

Felicity was changing out of her uniform when the door flew open. Oliver paused mid-stride, lingered on her bare legs for longer than was appropriate, before his neck almost snapped as he looked away.

“Ah, sorry, Petty Officer, I was, ah, just, um, we’re all headed to the mess for dinner soon,” he stammered.

“Sir,” she replied, standing half in the small wardrobe to hide from him.

Peering around the door, she saw that Oliver was still standing right there, hands in his pockets, staring intently at her again, his right eyebrow arched slightly, an almost imperceptible, flirty grin on his face. Confused, she stared back at him.

“Sir?” she questioned. 

In one wide stride, Oliver reached her, his eyebrows knitted in an unhappy frown, eyes blazing. Grabbing her face, he pushed his lips against hers and kissed her so brutally, that it hurt her mouth. Yet the bristling hairs of his face, the taste of his lips, the breath that filled her mouth and throat, the lusting, urgent caresses of his tongue on hers, roused a hunger in her that was almost instant. 

They pulled just a little bit away from each other, their lips still touching.

“Oliv-” she exhaled shakily into his mouth.

His large, rough hand slithered down her stomach, over her hip, leaving a shiver-inspiring trail of chill bumps over her heated skin. In one swift motion, he tore off his t-shirt and threw it aside, as his impatient hands clasped her waist. He lowered himself to his knees and traced a line from her naval to her bra with the tip of his tongue on his way back up. It only took Oliver a second to get her bra off and she bounced up to kiss him again. They stumbled for her bed, Oliver losing his pants somewhere along the way. He dragged her up the mattress, one knee between her legs, her hands running all over his back.

His calloused hand found the top of her underwear and, after pausing to get the okay from her, his fingers slipped under the elastic.

Her heart raced and she felt herself dampen with lustful excitement. Her legs fell apart, with little prodding from his hand and she propped herself up on her elbows, watching his head descend down her torso, until his cheek made contact with her pubic bone and he lightly bit the inside of her thigh. Shuddering from the sensation of his teeth sinking into her flesh, she grabbed his shoulder.

Oliver had been patient. He had waited but she was here at last, and he could see her lying naked in his arms, her salty flesh yielding to him, her strong fingers digging into his shoulder. He worked his way up her torso again, light kisses being placed all over her body. Her strong hands eventually cupped his face and forced him to kiss her.

Without breaking their straining kiss, he slipped his hand lower and her folds opened as his fingers stroked with measured precision, moistening her even more. 

The tingling sensation between her thighs wandered up to her breasts and the pink nipples of the supple flesh tightened as if in invitation to be suckled. Oliver slid his head down and buried his stubbled cheek in the soft flesh of her breast.

“This is a bad idea,” Oliver huffed.

“A-ffirm,” she replied.

He started to laugh, his loud, deep, semi-insane sounding bellowing laugh and she began to laugh with him, because it was impossible not to. But he spoke the truth—were they insane? There were all kinds of ramifications that could come from this. 

“This is a really bad idea, we should stop,” he sighed.

”You are horny and you are about as subtle as a flying brick about it!” she laughed and he put a hand over her mouth to stop her giggles from carrying around the dorms. His erection was now more than prominent and the grab of his warm hands was no longer gentle or comforting. He rose swiftly, his hips pinning her tightly to the mattress, the heat of his erection pressed along her fluttering belly, while his hand snaked upwards, grabbing her wrists and holding them above her head. Sweat broke all over her body, especially when his right hand sneaked in between their bodies and cupped her again, filling his palm and fingers.

It was hot in the tight room, and their skin was becoming sleek and sticky. His breath was warm and heavy as he kissed her, unstoppable now. 

“Do you have a condom?” she breathed into his mouth.

“I’m in the middle of Afghanistan, Felicity, why the fuck would I have a condom?” he growled, impatiently, moving in to kiss her again.

“Sir,” she turned her head.

“Don’t sir me now, Felicity, that just makes it weird,” he smirked.

“Oliver, I just, you were right,” she sat up and pulled her legs out from underneath him and to her chest, “this is a bad idea.”

“Felicity,” he started.

“Bad idea,” she repeated.

He sat on the edge of her bed and ruffled his hands through his hair, then scrubbed his face.

“I’m very sorry, Petty Officer, I don’t know what came over me,” he stood up, adjusting himself inside his underwear.

“It’s fine, Lieutenant, it’s just as much my fault as yours,” she whispered.

“I’m, um, also sorry for earlier,” he looked sheepish.

“Earlier?” she wanted him to say it.

“When I snapped,” he made a motion with his hands, suggesting she knew where he as headed.

“You kind of more than snapped,” she played with her ear lobe.

“I know,” he passed her the pink sports bra off the floor, “and I’m sorry.”

“I understand that this Merzad thing has you freaked out,” she conceded. “And I have been hanging out with Heath, but it’s not affecting my job.”

“Felicity, it’s not that,” he shook his head. “In the beginning, I was going to do all of this by myself. I wasn’t going to become friends with anybody under my command, I just wanted to get in, get it done and take my long service leave. I thought I could do it all myself, which is stupid, I know. Now, I realise how important you are in this whole thing, I need you here, 100% of the time. I never used to get to know anybody really well, professionally, yes, personally, never. And now with you and Diggle, even Heath, you’re my friends, I need you, I rely on you.”

“Does that mean I have a shot at sailor of the month?”

“No, because you’re not a sailor, you’re a SEAL, part of my SEAL team.”

“Thank you,” Felicity nodded, only just realising they were having a heart to heart in their underwear.

“Should we, ah, head to dinner?” he asked, looking around the room for his clothes.

“Yeah,” Felicity replied, slipping into her bra and going in search of an appropriate outfit for the mess.

Once they were both dressed and had some semblance of a ‘we-did-not-just-almost-have-sex’ look about them, they went to leave her room.

“This is, ah,” Felicity started.

“Between us?” Oliver offered.

Felicity nodded and smiled, as they stepped into the hall, shutting the door behind them. “Thanks, sir.” 

“Don’t mention it,” he smiled back.

The two stopped just short of going outside, pulling their body armor, and all that went with it, off their designated hooks. They dressed quickly, practiced in the routine now and, after checking each other over once more, clipped their pistols into their holsters. Oliver sighed, almost sadly, placing a hand on Felicity’s shoulder and squeezing it gently as he followed her outside.


	12. Can You Hide the Devil Within?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I thought a quick update would make up for the time between the last two.
> 
> Just one little note for this one.
> 
> DFAC: Dining FACility. Just another word to use to describe the mess, or the chow hall.

The last night of patrol had been a disastrous one. They’d come under heavy fire from Taliban fighters and three of the men had been shot. It was no one that Felicity had grown particularly close to, nor were any of the injuries life threatening, but it had rattled Felicity and the men. 

They’d called for their return ride, hoping for Bradleys, an infantry transport tank, but instead got Abrams, a four man tank designed for combat, not transport.

The night watch platoon were forced to form up in columns and jog along behind the tanks. Felicity had to give credit to the 16 men she was jogging with because, during the whole exhausting slog, spirits stayed high. Some of the guys even joked about who was going to step on the first road side bomb. They speculated who would fly the farthest, propelled by the blast. 

“If you’re going to go,” someone, Felicity was sure it had been Petty Officer Harper, said, “you should do it with distance and style points.” 

Roy and Oliver had traded well-meaning insults for the rest of the two mile jog back to Outpost Murphy, the young Petty Officer had promised to take the Lieutenant down a few levels, swearing on his girlfriend’s life that he’d outrun him in five mile race. This didn’t sit particularly well with the brooding officer.

“Consider this your warm up,” he had warned Roy.

However, in spite of all Oliver’s joking and jesting with the other men in the platoon, he had not said one word to Felicity that didn’t directly involve their mission for the night. There was no friendly banter, no exchange of pleasantries, nothing that didn’t involve her checking the rules of engagement or redrawing maps. She knew that they’d both agreed to keep last night a secret, but she was acutely aware of how well Oliver played his role.

Felicity was so wired from the whole experience that she knew there was no way she was going to be able to rack out completely during the day. She’d returned to her room and changed before heading to the DFAC for breakfast. 

 

“How was patrol?” Diggle asked.

“Eventful,” she shrugged, sitting down with a cup of coffee.

“Heard you ran the Mogadishu mile,” he grinned, referring to Black Hawk Down.

“No, sir, it felt more like the Mogadishu three mile,” she replied.

Diggle laughed a little, as he bundled up his empty MRE bag and tossed it towards a nearby bin. 

“Where’s the Lieutenant?” she asked, expecting to have found him in Diggle’s near vicinity.

“He and Petty Officer Harper got special permission to go for a run without their protective gear, apparently some bet was placed on your light jog a zero dark thirty,” Diggle explained.

“Ah, yes, that in which Harper swore on Thea Queen’s life that he’d be able to outrun Oliver,” Felicity sipped her coffee.

“Oh, that kid, I swear to God,” Diggle shook his head.

“I know, right?”

“Felicity?”

“Mhmm?”

“Whatever it is that you and the lieutenant have going on, I need to know that it will have no effect on this operation,” Diggle was staring directly at her when her head snapped up.

“Did he tell you?” she whispered.

“He didn’t have to tell me anything,” Diggle shrugged.

“It’s not going to be a problem, John,” she assured him, “It’s between Oliver and me, when we’re wearing our civilian hats. When it comes to our job, sir, it is not an issue.”

Seemingly satisfied with her answer, Diggle nodded and dropped the subject.

“But, seriously, sir, he didn’t say anything to you?” she inquired.

“Nope,” he shook his head.

“Is it obvious that maybe something might have happened?” she probed.

“Not obvious, Smoak, but…”

“So, everyone is clued in?”

“Hardly,” Diggle scoffed, “everyone here is so freaking oblivious it’s no wonder we haven’t all died because of their ignorance.”

“I don’t expect it to be a thing anymore, I think it was a one off thing, but even then, it wasn’t really a thing because there was no, well, thinging, like, properly thinging, anyways, shit, Felicity, shut up,” she chastised herself.

Diggle was sat there, literally giggling at her as she verbally reprimanded herself.

“It’s okay, Smoak, your thinging, or lack thereof, is safe with me.”

Felicity cleared her throat. “Thank you, sir.”

“How’d you go with the duty conscious thing last night?”

“It was not a problem,” she assured him, “just as it was not a problem when the transport vehicles came under attack, or any of the times that we’ve been shot at while on patrol.”

“Fair point.”

“Dig?”

“Mmm?”

“Have you, well, what I mean is, have you ever struggled to bridge the duty conscious gap?”

“Of course, Smoak,” Diggle nodded.

“W-when?”

“One time, we were transporting a captured suspected terrorist from the combat zone to an American base, we came under heavy fire, fifty or so of the enemy just firing at us from behind this ridge. They were actually after the guy we were transporting. One man, hell, he was just a kid really, maybe fourteen, he was getting closer and closer, and I kept warning him, over and over, to back off, but in the end I had to take him down.”

“John…”

“I killed this kid to protect this human piece of garbage and I thought am I still good? Am I still a good man?”

“Yes, John, you are.”

“That’s what you need to remember too, Felicity, you are still good, I don’t think there’s a force on Earth that could make you a bad person.”

He looked at her and she nodded.

She swilled the last mouthful of her coffee around in the plastic mug as a comfortable silence settled between them.

“Oliver is a good man, too,” Diggle spoke out of nowhere.

Felicity turned her head to squint against the sun at where he had laid out on a bench, a hat covering his eyes. She regarded him for a few moments and she could tell he was waiting for her to say something.

She had no doubt Oliver was a good man. He was well liked and respected by the junior officers and enlisted personnel, as well as being valued and appreciated by his superiors. He had proved himself time and time again, was highly decorated and had toured Afghanistan five times, not including this trip. She had seen him stand up for sailors both on the ship and at Outpost Murphy. He spoke passionately about a lot of things but he always cut a slightly sad figure to her, and she couldn’t explain why. There was a sense of loneliness about him, which she didn’t feel from anyone else. She had expected to feel lonely here too, but she didn’t. It was, in fact, the comradery offered by Diggle, Oliver, Roy, Heath and the rest of the dual military spec ops group that made her quite comfortable. 

But Oliver.

She felt like she knew him, but at the same time realised there was a lot that she was unaware of. She had often seen him sat by himself sometimes before the breakfast rush, sometimes sitting against the fence with his face turned up to the sun. And he just looked alone. 

“He’s been through a lot,” Diggle eventually continued without her prompting.

“Mmm?” she feigned disinterest.

“On his first tour, he and three other guys got bundled up by some Taliban, for five months. They kicked the shit out of them all, beat them until they were unrecognisable. Continuously. I don’t know why they just didn’t kill them, it probably would’ve been better. But no, they kept them just that little bit alive.”

Felicity’s stomach twisted and she shifted uncomfortably, clearing her throat.

Sensing her unease, Diggle sat up and let the stop watch that was resting on his chest fall in to one hand. His other hand fixed the bucket hat atop his helmet and he met her gaze.

“He’s pretty fucked up because of it.”

“Well, yeah,” she squirmed.

“When they were finally found, two of them were dead, internal bleeding, brain haemorrhage, that’s what they say killed them. He’s not really been the same since. He was a mess when he was pulled from this clay house, eyes swollen shut, lips split, most of his ribs were broken, all his wounds, the gunshots, stab wounds, they were all infected. Seriously Felicity, I don’t know how he didn’t die,” Diggle shook his head and looked away.

Felicity recalled the vague feeling of scars on Oliver’s back during their encounter the previous day. There had been quite of few of them. Some knotted scar tissue, other were small, slightly raised slivers.

“Who was the other guy that survived?”

“Your Lieutenant Commander, he was just an LT back then, Tommy. He wasn’t as physically messed up as Oliver, but mentally, I don’t think he ever recovered, that’s why he doesn’t do ops anymore.”

“How do you know all this? I mean…” Felicity trailed off.

“I was the guy that carried Oliver out. He was barely breathing.”

Felicity went to press him for more, but her ears perked at the sound of two sets of footfalls coming hard and fast.

Oliver rounded the corner first, arms raised in triumph.

“Yep! Yeah!” he exclaimed, barely out of breath, pulling up and turning to watch Roy come in after, a massive grin on his face.

“Fuck,” Roy slowed to a walk.

“Queen by 1.7,” Diggle clicked the stop watch.

“What?” Oliver spun around and Felicity had to forcibly avert her eyes to stop them from roaming all over Oliver’s slick torso.

“Ha!” Roy laughed, doubled over, leaning on his knees.

“More than that, more than that, John,” Oliver insisted.

“Fucking dude, come on, I was being generous, trust me,” Diggle put the stop watch on the table. He reached into a bag sat at his feet and threw a water bottle to each of the sweaty men and then hauled their helmets and body armour up from under the table.

“Who won?” Heath came out of the chow hall, his spoon poking out of his MRE. 

“Queen,” Diggle replied.

“Bad luck, dude,” he shrugged sympathetically at Roy before sitting down next to Felicity, grinning like an idiot, “hey.”

“Hey yourself,” she smiled.

“Petty Officer Patton, do you not have somewhere else to be?” Oliver asked.

“No, sir,” Heath replied.

“Make yourself scarce,” he ordered.

“Uh, yes, of course, sir,” he stammered in reply, stepping backwards over the bench and disappearing.

Felicity made eye contact with Diggle, who had a ‘not a problem, huh?’ look on his face. She turned to glare at Oliver.

“Something to say, Petty Officer Smoak?” Oliver challenged her.

“Not to you, sir,” she stood up fast and made to leave.

“Sit down, Petty Officer,” Oliver ordered.

She stopped and turned back to him. 

“Sit down, Felicity,” he tried a different tone.

She ran her tongue over her teeth in an attempt to express her dissatisfaction at the way she was being spoken to and treated, but sat down anyway.

“Operation Sea Charger is a go, tonight, 1800,” Oliver informed them.

Roy looked surprised to have been privy to this information and shook two fists victoriously. 

“Beautiful,” Diggle nodded.

“Pack your bags,” Oliver instructed, “lace your boots.”


	13. Bittersweet

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Take this, for I am quite busy for the next three or four days.
> 
> Thank you to everyone's reviews thus far, I say it all the time, but they are greatly appreciated. As are you.

The briefing room, a windowless room scurried away at the back of the Tactical Operations Room, was stuffy and lit by fluorescent bulbs.

The plan was to sit up in the hills and hide for, if necessary, up to four days to bring in the high ranking member of the Taliban, dead or alive.

Oliver was stood out the front of the large group, one hand in the front pocket of his jeans, using his other hand to gesture when he spoke. 

“We’re gonna hit the landing zone,” Oliver trained a laser pointer at a particularly clear area, “and move up into this ridge here. We’ve got intel that our man, Merzad, is currently lying low is this village.”

Oliver indicated a small village five or six miles from the landing zone, then flicked to the next slide, showing a close up satellite image of the village and its layout.

“Once we’re sure he’s there,” Diggle spoke up, “my team will trek around to the other side of village, giving it a wide berth, then we’re both going to move in unison towards the village, giving the guy no escape once we insert.”

“Wallace and Holliday will take the comms on Sergeant Diggle’s team, Harper and Smoak, you’ll be the SEAL ears. Our med guys will be Diggle and Smoak, I’ll be command control,” Oliver listed. “Smoak, anything to add?”

“We’re in a fairly hilly area of Khost Province, so I’m expecting typical comms problems between ourselves and base, missing one or two call ins probably won’t be much to worry about, but if we miss three, I’d say wake someone up,” she shrugged, “the LT has the sat phone should we get into a sticky situation that we can’t deal with. Also, from a med point of view, the terrain is that loose shale stuff so lace up good and proper, it’d be embarrassing to call for medevac because you, as a grown ass adult, can’t lace your boots tight enough and end up rolling your ankle.”

“Also,” Diggle spoke up, “contrary to popular belief there is poison ivy, so watch your cock and balls because that will suck.”

“Rules of engagement,” Oliver announced and a power point slide listed the dos and don’ts should they make contact with the enemy. “US Forces will comply with the Law of Armed Conflict at all times, only other combatants and other military objectives may be attacked. If you do come under attack, use the appropriate force necessary to deter or defeat that threat. Use of deadly force is authorised but only if there is hostile intent.”

Diggle shook his head in an almost disapproving way.

“A friendly reminder that Hostile Intent is the threat of imminent use of force against the United States and US Forces. So, be sure that whoever you’re drawing a bead on is armed. If in doubt, don’t fire.”

The brief went on, in further detail, for another hour and a half.

Later that afternoon they were actually in the helicopter, dressed and organised, ready to leave when the mission was called off. 

“Turn one!” the military recognised call for an aborted mission came over the radio.

They had lost track of the target, Merzad Ahmed.

They disembarked and wandered back to their quarters. They shed their heavy packs and weapons, changed out of their combat gear, cleaned the camouflage cream off their faces and re-joined the human race. 

 

The next two weeks or so that passed were filled with more intelligence gathering, report perfecting and map redrawing. Felicity was putting in more hours at the TOC shack, avoiding Oliver and his fits of superfluous jealousy like the plague. 

She would often wake Heath at four in the morning, probably just as he was actually getting to sleep, to go for a run. The necessity of the early hour was to avoid having to run with Oliver. She knew it was petty, he’d been nothing but good to her since her posting to Murphy, but she was beginning to feel suffocated by his watchful eye. It was getting to the point where she couldn’t talk to another soldier without Oliver thinking that they were being sexually inappropriate.

So she ran early, ate early or late, worked hard.

“Head down, ass up,” as her mother would say.

Until her forty sixth day at Outpost Murphy.

The two seal teams had been called into the AV room for a meeting and Felicity had been dragged there by Heath, despite her protests that she wasn’t actually a SEAL.

“We’re bumping the two SEAL platoons back to Dubai for a week of compulsory R and R,” Commander Steele had announced right off the bat.

This was met with a thunderous applause and lots of whooping, cheering and banging on the arms of chairs.

“33 resort rooms have been booked at Habtoor Grand Resort in Dubai,” Oliver joined him at the front of the room, “so, back your bags, we’re bumping out tomorrow night, landing in Dubai at 2300.” 

 

At breakfast the next morning spirits were high. They were effectively on leave from the minute Steele and Queen had made the announcement, so they slept in and rocked up to the chow hall just as last collection for breakfast was being called. 

After they’d cleared their breakfast mess away, Heath, Felicity and Roy sat around in the sun, sipping their coffee, reading old newspapers, playing cards.

It was around 1100 when a solemn looking Oliver approached the group of petty officers. The two boys were involved in a heated game of Go Fish and Felicity sat reading a book, her back pressed up against Heath’s side.

“Sir?” Felicity sat up straight as she saw him approach, her stomach sinking at the look on his face.

Roy and Heath looked up from their game of cards.

“Who did we lose?” Heath asked.

“Harper, can I talk to you?” Oliver stopped short and beckoned for Roy to follow.

The cards that Roy had a hold of fell from his shaking hands. He rose slowly, not breaking eye contact with Oliver.

“Th-Thea?” his bottom lip trembled.

“She’s fine, Harper, she’s fine,” Oliver assured her, and for a minute he looked terrified too.

Diggle was exiting the comms hut as Oliver led Roy away.

“Dig!” Felicity called and motioned for him to come over.

He held up one finger, asking for a minute. He seemed to need to collect himself, taking a deep breath with his hands on his hips, before he headed towards them.

“What happened?” Felicity asked as Diggle sat down.

“A friend of Roy’s, an army PO3 Cindy Stanton, was killed yesterday.”

“Did you know her?” Heath asked, at the same time Felicity squeaked a, “Killed?”

“Yes, I did, I was her CO at the West Coast recruit school,” Diggle explained to Roy and then turned to Felicity, “She was killed by a road side bomb while on foot patrol outside of FOB Geronimo, that’s all we know.”

“Why were they foot patrolling?” Felicity stood up so fast she nearly knocked her coffee over, “Why weren’t they in vehicles? There’s protocol in place to stop this from happening!”

“They’re investigating,” Diggle tried to calm her down.

“Such a stupid, what a useless, that’s pointless, it’d be such an awful wa-” Felicity sat down heavily, tears in her eyes, “Poor Roy.”  
“He’ll be okay,” Heath rubbed her back.

“I’m gonna go find him,” she stood up again, gentler this time and squeezed Heath’s shoulder as she left, winding her way around the tables and chairs outside the chow hall.

She found Roy a few minutes later. He was in his room, leaning heavily on the back of his chair, breathing deeply with his eyes closed. His grip on the seat back had whitened his knuckles.

“Roy?” she whispered, “are you okay?”

“I’ve gotta call Thea and let her know,” he spat through gritted teeth.

Felicity nodded, sitting on the end of his bed.

“They don’t give a fuck about us, ma’am,” Roy seethed.

“No, I don’t think they do,” she sighed.

Roy cleared the contents of his desk with a single sweep of his arm, making Felicity jump.

“They don’t care!” he yelled, turning to her, his face scrunched up, “they just care about their medals, they don’t care how many of us die for them to get one!”

“Roy,” Felicity flew towards him, wrapping her arms around his chest and squeezing him tightly.

“I don’t want to tell Thea, it’s gonna break her heart,” he spoke with his mouth pushed into Felicity’s shoulder.

“I’ll sit with you while you do, if that’ll make you feel better?”

“It’s okay, I can do it,” Roy nodded, still with a firm grasp of Felicity’s torso.

“Alright, let’s get to the phone,” Felicity found Roy’s hand and turned to lead him out of his room, “I’ll wait outside.”

“Thank you, ma’am,” Roy whispered, wiping his face furiously with his spare hand.

She squeezed his hand gently and hummed a comforting reply.


	14. Rest and Relaxation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think I've managed to set this thing up so that it'll post chapters automatically (but still quite sporadically) for the next few days.
> 
> I appreciate everyone who has taken the time to read this and let me know their thoughts.

The first thing Felicity did once they were checked in to their hotel rooms was change out of her uniform and book in at the spa for the next morning. She had organised to get her eyebrows waxed, her nails painted and her whole body massaged. She realised she must have looked at state, because the lady who ran the 24 hour spa offered to fit her in right then. 

She declined, deciding sleep was the better option. 

“I will see you tomorrow,” the lady smiled.

“Thank you, thank you very much,” Felicity replied, hoping she sounded sincere.

She had a small meal at the bistro then she went back to her room, pulled all her clothes off and climbed in to bed.

A knock at the door woke her after what felt like only a few minutes. She glanced sleepily at the digital clock on the bedside table, it was just after 7.30 in the morning. 

Having put up a ‘privacy please’ sign just before she’d gone to bed, she assumed it was one of the boys and so she decided to disregard the knock.

Her spa appointment wasn’t until 11 so she had intended to sleep in, meander down for breakfast, or maybe even order room service, and then, perhaps after a quick dip in the pool, go and treat herself.

Just the thought of it allowed her to doze off again.

-

Oliver, growing impatient that Felicity wasn’t answering, used the spare key to open her hotel room.

“Felicity?” he said so quietly that he barely heard himself.

He tiptoed around the corner and almost didn’t see Felicity in the bed. The heavy down doona was only slightly lumpy and, had it not been for mass of blonde curls poking out near the top of the bed, he would have thought that she’d just been lazy and not made her bed.

“Felicity,” he tried again, louder.

There was a small grunt muffled by the doona.

“What?”

“We’re going to breakfast,” he explained.

“We’re?” she asked.

“Well, I am, and probably Dig,” he shrugged.

“And you want some company?”

“Yeah.”

“No.”

“I’m sorry?”

“We are on rest and relaxation, Oliver,” she replied, her voice still muffled, “I’m resting, I’m relaxing.”

Oliver stood at the end of the bed, silent.

“Are you still here?” she asked.

“Yes.”

-

Felicity peered out from under the doona. Oliver was stood, leaning on the foot of the bed, his fingers twitching nervously against the wood. He raised an eyebrow.

“Wipe that stupid look off your stupid face,” she sighed, pushing hair off her face.

“Come on, Smoak, there is a delicious breakfast waiting for you,” he grinned enthusiastically. “And coffee, proper coffee.”

Her interest now peaked, she sat up, holding the doona close to her.

“Sir, I would love to come to breakfast with you but-”

“Excellent! Let’s go!” 

“But, you’ve been an asshole, I’m not talking to you,” she turned her head to the side, pretending to ignore him.

“Pardon?” Oliver spluttered.

“You’ve been suffocating me, watching over me, I think I’ve proven that I am able to handle myself,” she exclaimed.

“We’ve had this conversation before,” Oliver warned, “Multiple times.”

“I know, which is why I find it so unbelievable that we have to have it again!”

Oliver cocked his head to the side, drumming his fingers on the foot of the bed. Felicity just wanted him to take a step back, treat her with the same protectiveness he afforded the other men in their platoon. He would defend all of them, should they appear to need it, but he defended her without her requiring it, often alienating her from the rest of them.

“I’m sorry, Felicity, I am, I can’t help it,” he replied in an almost whisper, turning his head with embarrassment.

“Now you’re making me feel like the asshole!” she almost shouted, frustration constricting her vocal chords so the lament came out slurred.

“That was not my intention,” Oliver assured her.

“Nothing is ever your intention, but, Oliver, you just need to think about how things not being your intention may make other people feel,” she insisted.

“I can do that,” he nodded.

Felicity nodded once, satisfied that he’d finally listened to her.

“So,” he tried again, “breakfast.”

“There is the little problem of my being particularly naked right now.”

Oliver’s eyes widened but he quickly recovered. “Nothing I haven’t seen before.”

The nonchalant shrug he gave made Felicity narrow her eyes at him. 

She was tempted to just step out from under the covers right then and there, call his bluff. He appeared to be reading her mind because he grinned and she couldn’t help but smile back.

“Get out!” she threw her pillow at him.

“I’ll meet you in the hall,” he conceded with a smile and left.

 

“Has Roy mentioned anything about how he is doing after Cindy?” Felicity asked, after the three of them had been seated for a while. She decided not to mention the insight into Roy’s state of mind that she was privy to the previous day. At least not until she was aware of Oliver’s grasp of the situation, as well as Diggle’s.

Their coffee had arrived, much to Felicity’s delight, and the waiter had promised to return within the next few minutest to take their order.

“Roy is not the kind of guy who is comfortable discussing his feelings,” Oliver shrugged, placing his coffee cup on the table in front of him, touching his thumb to all his fingers.  
“Not like you and me,” Diggle deadpanned without looking up from the menu.

Oliver turned his head to glare at Diggle, sighing and in return, Diggle just glanced up and raised his eyebrows, challenging Oliver to dispute his claims and hash out all his pent up feelings right then and there.

“My sister is supposed to be here this afternoon,” Oliver turned back to Felicity, “maybe she will be able to talk it through with him.”

“Your sister is coming?” Felicity asked, surprised that Roy hadn’t mentioned it.

“Yeah, they’re so loved up, it’s stupid, we get seven days off, half way around the world, and she’s flying in to see him,” Oliver scoffed.

“That’s cute,” Felicity smiled.

“I’d fly Lyla here in a second if she wasn’t pregnant,” Diggle shrugged.

“I’m sorry, Dig,” Felicity sympathetically squeezed his hand.

“Don’t worry, Smoak,” he smiled.

“You’ll have to meet my sister, you two can go shopping together,” Oliver spoke up, “or something.”

“Or something,” Felicity shrugged, her brows twitched and then her eyes narrowed, watching Oliver squirm in the knowledge that he’d just said the wrong thing and was, therefore, back on Felicity’s bad side.

“Sorry,” he cleared his throat, picking up his cup and taking a sip of his coffee to try and hide.

“Hey guys,” Heath was squatted down by the table.

“Where did you come from?” Felicity nearly jumped out of her skin.

“We’re giving ourselves one night to dance the night away, the other night’s we’ll behave ourselves, so, tonight we’re going to the White Lounge, gonna get white boy wasted, you in, dudette?” he asked, putting his hand up in the air.

“Oh yeah!” Felicity high fived him.

“Sirs?”

Diggle nodded his acquiescence and Oliver shrugged.

“I’m going to go to the beach after lunch,” Heath turned back to Felicity, “if you want to join me?”

“Sure,” Felicity flashed a smile.

“Great, have a nice day, dudette,” he stood up, “Boss, Sergeant Diggle,” he nodded at his superiors and scurried after the other guys, who were waiting to head back up to their rooms.

“White boy wasted is still a thing?” Oliver asked, grinning at Felicity.

“If you’re twenty five, earning a PO1 wage and in Dubai, it is,” Felicity smiled back.

“Valid,” Diggle nodded.

“I wasn’t going to come, but I might, to keep an eye on things,” Oliver spoke distractedly, trying to catch the attention of a waiter.

“Oh, come on,” Felicity moaned, “let your hair down sir!”


	15. Shake It Off

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I had this all set up to post chapters automatically for the next three or four days, but everyone was so excited about Thea's arrival that I had to do a bit of chopping, changing and adding to this chapter.
> 
> I hope it flows as well as I want it to.

Felicity was straightening her hair when she was interrupted by a knock at the door.

“Shit,” she hissed. 

With a head of half curly, half straight hair she moved to the door and opened it to a gleaming Roy and a tiny brunette.

“Jesus, Roy, I almost didn’t recognise you with that stupid smile on your face!”

“Felicity!” Roy exclaimed, “this is Thea.”

“Nice to meet you,” Felicity turned to Thea, extending a hand.

“You too,” Thea nodded and, instead of shaking Felicity’s waiting hand, pulled her in to a hug.

“Are you guys coming out tonight? I imagine you have a lot to catch up on,” Felicity asked, nudging her glasses up her face and then shaking her head, “not that I ever have or ever will imagine, except, now I am, sorry.”

Thea and Roy were both grinning at her.

“Been there, done that,” Roy assured her with an exaggerated wink.

“You need some help?” Thea pointed at Felicity’s head.

“Oh, sorry, I forgot,” she twisted her long hair around in her hands and tried to tuck in neatly into itself. “Besides, I wouldn’t want to interrupt… anything…”

“I’ve got to have a shower anyway,” Roy shrugged, “Thea is good with that stuff.”

“Are you sure?” Felicity chewed the inside of her lip.

“Not a problem!” Thea exclaimed, all of a sudden very excited.

She turned to Roy, kissed him and rushed Felicity back inside her hotel room.

“Sit,” she gestured to the vanity chair.

Felicity sat down heavily.

“Right,” Thea was brandishing the straightener with a look of gleeful intent on her face. “What are you wearing?”

“That,” Felicity gestured to her newly purchased pink dress and black strappy heels that were laid out on the bed.

“Cute!” Thea assured her.

“And I was going to wear contacts,” Felicity felt the need to add.

Thea nodded and set about finishing Felicity’s hair.

“Roy speaks very highly of you,” Thea spoke up eventually.

“I could say that same about you,” Felicity smiled at the mirror.

“He says that you and my brother…”

“Not really,” Felicity shrugged.

“My brother is,” Thea paused to contemplate the rest of her sentence, “well, he’s very closed off.”

Felicity nodded.

“You need to understand that there are things we’ll never know about him, I’ve come to accept that with Roy, too. I mean, I’m sure there are things that people will never know about you.”

“Things are pretty full on over there at the moment,” Felicity assured her.

“I know, which is why, from everything that Roy has told me, I’m glad you’re there for all the guys over there.”

“I’m sorry about your friend,” Felicity swallowed hard.

Tears pricked Thea’s eyes and she nodded her thanks, finishing Felicity’s hair with one last pull of the straightener. 

“You are a lot like your brother,” Felicity turned to face Thea. “You have these walls, I can tell already, but you’re very… relatable. It sounds lame to say, but I feel like I know you already.”

“Relationships form quickly amongst the SEAL teams and the women waiting at home for them. It’s like second nature to be friends with anyone that knows them.”

“It’s a nice concept.”

“Oliver and Roy are doing okay over there?”

“As okay as anyone can do,” Felicity assured her, “there’s certainly a very friendly rivalry between them, but they work together in such beautiful harmony, they are very impressive, everyone in the teams are.”

“And now you’re one of them,” Thea playfully punched her shoulder.

“Pfft,” Felicity scoffed, turning her head away as she flushed beetroot with embarrassment.

“I’m gonna go get changed for tonight, I think we’re all meeting in the lobby in, like, half an hour.” 

Felicity nodded and stood up.

“Thank you for the chat, it was nice to converse with, well, another girl,” Felicity smiled.

“You are more than welcome,” Thea hugged her. “See you in a bit?”

She was already headed to the door and turned back to flash Felicity a smile.

“Yeah.”

“Oh,” Thea paused and turned back once more, “You’ll look after my boys, right?”

“Of course.”

 

“What are you wearing, Felicity?” Oliver stammered as she came out of the elevator.

“A-a dress?” she replied, equally as flustered. She wondered if it was tucked in to her underwear, or if there was a stain on it, a tear somewhere, did it look that bad?

“Jesus, Ollie, she’s a woman!” Thea exclaimed from somewhere in the group, “she’s allowed to kick off the camo for a night!”

Felicity saw something on Oliver’s face, it was only momentary because Heath bundled into her, telling her how lovely she looked, how she was definitely going to score tonight.

“I’ll even be your wing man!” he exclaimed, proudly, kissing her cheek.

“Thank you, Heath,” she fidgeted with the spaghetti strap on her shoulder. 

It was a bit of a walk from the towers lobby to The White Lounge, a cocktail bar that promised a place to party. 

Felicity and Heath walked with their arms linked, skipping and singing and laughing, having already kicked off their night with cocktails in the pool after their sun soak on the beach. 

“Relax, Oliver,” Diggle hissed in his friend’s ear as the two of them rounded out the large group. 

“I am relaxed, Diggle,” he replied.

“Really? Because it looks like you’re getting ready to go out on a hot op, rather than a night out.”

“I’m fine, I just don’t want any of my men getting hauled up on a misconduct charge tonight,” he sighed.

“Uh huh,” Diggle let the issue slide, not mentioning that Oliver hadn’t taken his eyes off Felicity as she hopped and danced along the path with Heath, her day drinking giving her rosy cheeks.

They got to the White Lounge and the group descended on the bar. What was going to be a quiet night for the patrons already in the lounge was all of a sudden loud and destined to be debaucherous.

The general chatter of everyone made it impossible to have a conversation at a normal speaking level. The waitresses, excited by the young, good looking men, turned the music up to accommodate the large volume of people. Pretty soon, having any type of conversation was hopeless.

“What’ll it be, Smoak?” Oliver watched Heath ask Felicity, stooping to yell in her ear, his hand going to the small of her back.

She had to rise on to her tip toes, despite her towering heels, to yell her answer into Heath’s ear, one hand resting on his chest for balance, like she was telling him a secret. It made Oliver wish that he and Felicity had more secrets between the two of them.

“Come on,” Diggle slapped him a little too hard on the back, “let’s get a beer.”

“Tequila,” Oliver yelled back.

 

“SIR!” Felicity yelled, temptingly holding out a shot glass layered with what appeared to be three different liqueurs.

“What the hell is this?” Oliver asked, holding the shot glass to his lips.

“A quick fuck!” she grinned and then tipped her head back, the shot disappearing.

Oliver nearly choked on the drink as the name of it reached his ears.

Felicity giggled as she put her shot glass on the table. “Are you having a good time, sir?” 

“Yes,” Oliver nodded, and found it surprising that his answer was genuine.

The club had packed out now and they were like sardines crammed into the space, which all of a sudden felt very small. Oliver had panicked a couple of times when Felicity had disappeared amongst the crowd, only for a flash of her pink dress to identify her, all of a sudden across the other side of the room, dancing with Heath or Roy or Thea.

“Do you want to dance?” Felicity lent towards him.

“I don’t dance, Felicity,” he replied.

“Bull shit!” she laughed, “I have it on good authority that you can tear up a dance floor.”

She held out her hand and he found himself reaching for it. She pulled him to his feet and led him to the middle of the pulsing crowd.

He moved mechanically, watching as Felicity’s small hips gyrated whichever way she pleased. 

“Come on!” she cupped the back of his neck to shout in his ear, “Loosen up.”

His hands went to her hips, then rounded the perfect curve of her bum and squeezed.

Clasping her hands at the nape of his neck, she threw her head back and laughed.

“That’s more like it!” 

They danced for three or four more songs, slick with sweat and when Felicity looked around for Diggle, determined to get him up and dancing, he was nowhere to be seen.

“Where’s Dig?” Felicity shouted in Oliver’s ear.

“I think he was going to try and talk to Lyla tonight,” Oliver explained.

A man that had been eyeing Felicity from afar approached where the two were still dancing, pressed up against each other.

“Would you like to dance?” he asked, a British accent evident even over the noise of the club.

“I’m good thanks,” Felicity smiled apologetically.

“Come on,” he insisted, placing a hand on her arm.

“Buddy, she said no,” Oliver was forceful as he pulled Felicity closer.

The British national walked away like a puppy with his tails between his legs.

“Would you like to pee around me?” she suggested, “mark your territory in earnest.”

“Well, that’s just silly,” he contradicted primly. 

“You want to get another drink?” Felicity pointed in the direction of the bar so that if Oliver didn’t hear her, he’d get the idea.

He nodded and she grabbed his hand as she turned, his hand moving to her shoulder as a result of that shift.

They passed Heath dancing with a girl and Felicity touched his arm lightly. Heath flashed a grin at Felicity, his face sobering slightly when he saw Oliver in tow. 

Oliver nodded gently, displaying he meant no foul. Heath tipped his chin up, acknowledging the silent agreement between them.

“Wine, beer, spirit?” Felicity squeezed his hand.

“You choose,” he put his lips to her ear.

“Actually,” Felicity cleared her throat, trying to stay standing on her all of a sudden very jelly like legs, “maybe I’ve had enough.”

“Come on, one more drink, loosen up,” he teased.

“Fine, tequila,” she grinned.

Oliver grimaced. He was already sure that the hangover he’d have in the morning was going to be blamed on tequila. What was one more?

The bartender saw Felicity and was pulling the bottle of Patron off the shelf.

“Uh uh,” she shook her head and motioned her the bartender to come closer.

She whispered something in his ear and he nodded.

“What are you doing?” Oliver smirked, a little wary of the grin on her face.

The bartender returned with two shot glasses and swiped Felicity’s room card. 

“Let’s go outside!” she yelled over the music as she plucked the two glasses off the bar.

Once they were outside, the thudding bass now beautifully distant, Felicity found a spare stand up bar table and placed the two tequilas between them.

Oliver admired her in the moonlight. Her long, straightened hair starting to curl at her temples, her whole face glowing with a fine sheen of sweat. She’d divulged to him on the flight over that it had been a long time between dye jobs for her. With her hair out, he noticed that her hair was a chestnut colour to her chin, fading to an Icelandic blonde at the tips. He didn’t mind a bit.

“Your hair is long,” he stated.

“I know. I was going to get it cut today, but it’s actually easier to manage,” she gathered it in one hand and dragged it over her left shoulder, unintentionally seductively so.

“You look really good. Like, amazingly good!” he smiled.

Felicity nudged the shot glass towards him and picked hers up.

“To rest and relaxation,” she proclaimed.

“To rest and relaxation looking good on you.”

They threw the tequila back, though it was the kind really meant for sipping. 

“You're really drunk right now,” Felicity stated, shaking her head, “I don't think you're gonna remember any of this.” 

“No, I'm not drunk at all,” Oliver squinted at her, “You're just blurry… and perceptive.”

“Should we head back?” Felicity asked.

“Oh, I don’t think I can deal with going in there again,” Oliver shook his head.

“I meant, back to the hotel,” Felicity bit her lip as she smiled.

“Oh,” Oliver’s eyebrows hiked up his head, “yes, that is a brilliant idea.”

The two linked arms and strolled back to the tower that housed their hotel rooms. They took the elevator to their floor, giggling at their drunkenness.

“How’s that for letting my hair down, Petty Officer?” Oliver asked, slinging an arm around Felicity’s shoulders as they traipsed up the hallway together.

“It was nice to see you so relaxed, sir,” she replied, reaching up and entwining her fingers in his. 

“You looked like you had the time of your life,” he grinned.

“I did, it was about time, Murphy was weighing me down,” she sighed.

“So, you shook it off,” he bumped his hip to hers.

“That I did,” she laughed.

They reached Oliver’s room and dropped their hold of each other. Oliver pulled the key card out of his jean pocket, but paused short of putting it in. Instead he turned to look at Felicity.

“Do you want to…?”

She nodded.

He nodded.

“Right,” he turned and opened the door.


	16. More of You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. Brace yourselves
> 
> 2\. I apologise if this does not live up to expectations

She followed him in and stood next to him as he closed the door, careful not to let it slam. It was early in the morning, after all.

“What to do, what to do?” he theatrically tutted as he spun on his heel to face her.

“What do you want to do?” she asked, the slightest tremble in her voice.

His face was flushed, from the wine, from the tequila, from dancing. His eyes though, were still as compellingly blue as always. “That depends.”

She looked into his face, and he watched a soft blush spread over her cheeks. Her eyes lowered to his lips. And then she caught herself.

“I should, just, go,” she reached for the door handle. He caught her hand mid-air and brought it to his face. She tried to pull away, but then his face blurred before her eyes, as he leaned towards her and his lips brushed against her. She stroked the stubble of his chin and then cupped his face in her hand, kissing him unsurely. He stood still, barely breathing, not letting himself get excited, only placing his hand on her back, holding her tentatively. They’ve kissed before. It wasn’t supposed to ever lead anywhere. 

It was therefore sudden, how their faces pressed to each other, and their eyes closed, and lips opened, and tongues intertwined, and their breathing became hard and fast.

Felicity’s hair spilled along her back, draping his hand, as he pulled her closer to him.

She held his face so hard, her hands pressing against his ears, that it almost hurt him, but there was such desperation in her grasp that he couldn’t pull away. He didn’t want to pull away. He wanted her to continue kissing his mouth and his cheeks and his eyelids and his forehead. 

And then it was unleashed. They stripped each other quickly and in silence. He pulled her dress over her raised arms, and then tried to unbutton his shirt, but fumbled. She brushed his hand away and helped him, quickly opening the shirt and pulling it from his body. His dog tags gleamed in the soft light. He ripped away his belt, shoes were kicked off, jeans, her underwear, bra. Then they stood in front of each other, naked, panting. Heat enveloped him, and he felt himself sweating. His erection was embarrassingly swift, heavy and painful. She jumped at him and he opened his arms to her, their lips and tongues remained fused together, fingers intertwined and locked, knuckles white with their strength. At last, she buried her face in his shoulder, his neck hair scraping her cheek. His skin was warm, laced with salty brine of his sweat. He put his arms tightly around her, feeling her hot breath on his shoulder. Through her breast, he felt her heartbeat. It was nervous, fast, yearning. But then she threw her head back and bit his chin. It was playful, tempting. A slow grin spread over his face. 

Oliver had a hollow in his chest, right at the bottom of his sternum and, if Felicity stooped slight, she could push her nose in there, kissing him, breathing him in. His scent was hypnotic. It was a mix of all the things she loved—lemon, alcohol, aftershave. She could already feel her body preparing for him, the warmth in the pit of her belly, and she took his fingers, bringing his hand between her thighs. He swallowed hard. All he wanted was to descend and taste her, bury his face in her, get lost within the fragrant confines of her sex. But he trod carefully. Her breasts threw him—he had forgotten how lovely they were, beautifully pale, and he lowered his head to them, kissing slowly, tenderly. His thigh stretched against hers, and he noticed chill bumps cover her arms, as his erection pressed between their bodies. 

At last, his hand probed along the soft wetness of her sex, sneaking past the barrier of her lips, feeling her at last. Holding her gaze the entire time, his fingers slipped inside her flesh, delving deeper, watching her eyelids grow heavy with desire. Her knees trembled next to his legs, as he expertly twisted his fingers, coaxing a light, somehow familiar sigh from her. He pushed his mouth over hers, his tongue possessing hers quickly, deliberately, both of them tasting of tequila and lemon. Pressed between his hard, strong body and the hotel dresser, she knew that she never needed anything as much as she needed him at this moment. Needed that firm body, the heavy, warm hands, the caress of the hot lips, the searching of the tongue, the big eyes, flashing blue with lust and arousal. Reality and regret would come tomorrow. Soon enough. They were never far away. But right now, she wanted to touch and taste, needed to wrap her legs around him, hold his head to her breast, and feel the strong swipe of his tongue over her nipples, the grip of his hands over her bottom. She felt him, reaching down, gripping him, and finding the sturdiness of his member in her hand. A strong clench of her womb pulled on his fingers, soliciting a raspy moan from him, as she stroked the thick hardness of him, making him close his eyes for a moment.

He gently stepped back, Felicity feeling the loss instantly. She shouldn’t have worried. He merely wanted to admire her petite, slender body, especially her breasts, which, in his mind, fell under the category of “don’t mind if I do…” 

He stepped towards her again, and squatted in front of her, brushing his cheek against her thigh, licking her leg from the knee and upwards. His hands smoothed over her belly and her thighs, and she felt deliciously exposed to him, something that she secretly enjoyed. He kissed her pubic bone, around her navel and then those sharp little teeth pulled on her nipple and she whimpered.

Feeling as if time was not on their side, he lifted her off the floor, and brought her to the side of the bed, their lips locked in an endless kiss. Then it stopped. He pulled away and looked at her, for one never-ending moment, an eternity. They said nothing. Then he pushed the strands of her long blonde hair off her shoulders, and softly kissed the vein on her neck, paused, then kissed the corners of her mouth, leaving her breathless with his gentleness. She stroked his ears. Lowering her on the plush bedspread, he fit well between her legs, on top of her, matching every indentation of her body with his. A puzzle completed and put together.

He kissed his way along her collar bone, then nibbled on her ear lobe. His hand cupped her as he murmured into her ear, “I can’t stop…”

“Do you want to stop?” she asked breathlessly.

He gently fondled her, feeding the heat, his other hand resting on her throat, and he kissed her between every word,

“No. Never. Can’t happen.”

“That’s good,” she smiled, and kissed him long and hard.

Felicity broke away abruptly and Oliver panicked that he’d spooked her with his declaration and she was about to run away.

“Are you-are you okay?” his eyes moved from side to side, considering which way to roll off her if she was to baulk.

“Yeah,” she giggled, “I just, please tell me that you’ve got a condom this time?”

He nodded enthusiastically, reaching in to a drawer in the bedside table.

There was a crinkle of foil as Oliver pushed off Felicity, his knees making the side of the bed sink. He slid the condom on with surprising uncertainty.

“Just…” Felicity reached forward and pinched the tip of the latex.

“Good plan,” Oliver nodded, a little embarrassed.

“Come here,” she beckoned him with a curl of her finger.

“Yes, ma’am,” he saluted her and crashed back down on top of her.

Her hot breath filled his mouth as she laughed, while he urged his thick member inside. His superior weight pressed into her, as his hungry lips wrapped around the spot where her neck met her shoulder. The intense heat from his erection pushed against her walls, and as his arms wound around her torso, he captured her lips again. When the steady thrusting began to fill her, Felicity bucked underneath his chest, only to be pushed back down again. Her heart raced.

Oliver found her excitement so appetizing that he grew even harder as he thrust into her wetness with smooth, solid strokes. The inner walls of her womb contracted against him, squeezing him, pushing him. Oliver held her tightly, feeling how she buckled against him with impatience. He was amused at her brazen wantonness and quickly obliged, pushing himself deeper into her. 

She wasn’t what he expected, as it was always the case with her. His heartbeat raced to an agonizing speed as true pleasure overtook sexual showmanship. His kisses were emotional, and full of lust and the intense desire that he always felt for her. As the friction built between them, the urge of release made his movements erratic and rough. Felicity dug her nails into his arm, bracing herself against his thrusts. 

Felicity felt the warmth spread rapidly, from the pit of her belly, it spread right up to her ribs, to her cheeks, down the length of her arms.

“Fuck me,” the strangled curse was rushed in his ear.

“I am,” he reminded her lustily.

And then he filled her, twitching inside her, feeling himself massaged by a pull from deep within her.

Oliver sighed and opened his eyes. He slowly pulled out of Felicity and laid next to her.

It was quiet between them for some time. Oliver swore he could almost hear Felicity’s thoughts. She was panicking, he could tell. Now that they were no longer touching, she was about to start babbling. Any second now. He decided to speak first.

“Yeah, I sort of had this happening differently in my mind,” he whispered.

Felicity had shifted on to her side, her back to him, thin and scrawny somehow, her long hair spread over the doona like a wave. She looked cold, and he moved behind her and enveloped her within his arms.

She smelled so soft, her hair, and her skin, and he could still feel himself pulsing through her, saturating her skin. His heart beat fast—not only because he was next to her, but also because he was so nervous. He feared the upcoming rejection more than anything.

Then, she surprised him.

She took his arm and squeezed it hard, wrapping herself around it, laying it between her breasts. She kissed his knuckles and snuggled closer, her bottom pushing into his pelvis. He put his other arm around her head, holding her in the circle of his embrace.


	17. The Thing About This War

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I keep posting chapters and feeling like we're not getting any closer to Operation Sea Charger actually taking place. I didn't realise how much I'd written in the lead up to it. So I apologise if you are feeling the same way, but take solace in the fact that we are almost half way there... I might start condensing more chapters together so it doesn't seem like that much more.

Diggle couldn’t sleep. He’d spent two hours on the phone to Lyla. She was feeling very pregnant, despite only being just over six months, and she was lonely. He’d tried to ease her mind by telling jokes, avoiding talking about work. She was off work too, doctor’s orders, which probably wasn’t helping the loneliness. 

Lyla’s mum was due to arrive in town in the coming weeks to help get the house ready. Diggle was jealous that he wasn’t the one painting the nursery, putting together the crib from the flat pack. Truth be told, he didn’t even know if he’d be able to be there for the birth. He would never lie to his wife, but that was one truth that would remain unspoken.

It was nearly three in the morning by the time Diggle hung up the phone, on the verge of tears, but refusing to admit it.

He tried calling Oliver’s room, expecting him to answer, but he didn’t. He then tried Heath’s room, surely the insomniac of the team would be awake. But still he got no answer.

Diggle surmised that Heath and Oliver were probably snoring soundly with the assistance of alcohol, he was sure they both carried on in to the small hours of the morning after he left to call Lyla. Maybe they were still partying. Maybe that’s why there was no answer.

He remembered Oliver mentioning the hard drive full of unwatched TV shows that was in his suitcase. Diggle figured that either Oliver wouldn’t be in his room or he’d be passed out and wouldn’t wake, so he used the spare pass card to open the door and slip into the room. 

He paused just inside the door, seeing the dresser a mess, the phone knocked off the hook. He crept along the short hallway and was ready to fling himself at whatever was waiting for him in the room.

He stopped and surveyed two naked, sleeping bodies, lying back to back, on top of the blankets.

“Oh,” his eyebrows jumped up in surprise.

He walked backwards, doing everything in his power to not break out in his ‘I told you so’ dance. He closed the door quietly and returned to his room where, to his surprise, he dozed of quickly.

 

Felicity awoke at first light. Not surprisingly, she slept badly, unaccustomed to sharing a bed. When the first rays of morning sun came through Oliver’s uncurtained windows, she slipped from under him, carefully moving her leg off hers. She pulled the drapes across, hoping that it would help him to sleep a little longer.

She pulled her clothes on, keeping one eye on the still sleeping Oliver. He was lying half on his side, half on his stomach, his top leg bent to support him during slumber. She stooped to pick up her shoes, and then straightened, her gaze wandering over his tanned, muscled body from head to toe. In the depths of sleep there was a slight, surprising softness to his shape that had Felicity chewing on her lip.

She crossed to the side of the bed and bent to kiss his cheek. When he didn’t stir, she blushed furiously, pulling away as if he had delivered her an electric shock. Rising on her tiptoes for added silence in her escape, she quickly made her way to the door, letting it close noiselessly behind her.

She clutched her shoes to her chest, sighing heavily.

As she wandered up the hall to her room, a door opened just ahead of her. Heath stepped out, looked to his right and then turned to his left. Felicity couldn’t help the guilty look that flashed across her face when his eyes settled on her. 

“Smoak,” he squared his shoulders to her and folded his arms across his chest, “is this a ‘just touched a butt strut’?”

She smirked as she lazily walked past him, the grin only faltering once she was in her room.

Stripping off quicker than she’d dressed just a minute before, she climbed into the shower. At first, the steam intensified the smell of Oliver, the lemon and tequila filling her nostrils. She hated washing off the smell of him from her body, because it was something that saturated her skin and something that made their encounter real. And now, as she wiped soapy foam off her arms, she found herself crying foolishly, her tears mingling with the water, the scent of Oliver fading into the warmth of the steam.

 

Laying on the beach after a greasy lunch, Felicity hoped that the sun would suck out whatever was left of her hangover. Lying on her stomach, propped up on her elbows, she was devouring the latest Gillian Flynn novel when a shadow loomed over her.

She froze, prayed it wasn’t Oliver and glanced up.

“Heath!” she exclaimed with relief.

“Dudette, what’s shaking?” He sat down on the sand.

“My brain,” she groaned, rolling over and sitting up.

“Ugh, I know the feeling, little lady,” Heath moaned.

She glanced over at him. He did look particularly green around the gills. 

“You and the Lieutenant, huh?” he spoke the words she was waiting for.

“I don’t think it’s a me and him thing, Heath, I just think, well, I don’t know what to think,” she trailed off, realising that aside from the fact she didn’t have to explain herself to Heath, she didn’t really have any words to explain it.

“He didn’t hurt you?” Heath queried.

“No, don’t tell him I told you this, but,” she lent in as if sharing a secret, “he’s really gooey on the inside.”

Heath scoffed, absently pushing his toes further into the sand, “I’ll mark that top secret, Smoak.”

“I think it was alcohol and loneliness, Heath, nothing else,” she shrugged.

It was more than that, if Felicity was being honest with herself. There was something in the way he caressed her, looked at her, and kissed her the night before that made it feel like something. He looked at her with an almost palatable hunger in his eyes, and she was sure she returned the same look of want and need.

As if the act of remembering his lusty hands on her body conjured him, Oliver was all of a sudden looming over the two of them, his board shorts slung low on his hips.

Both Felicity and Heath shielded their eyes from the sun as they looked up at him.

“I should, um, go get a beer, or something,” Heath stood up, dusting the sand off the back of his shorts as he turned, “Later, dudette, sir.”

Oliver sat close to her, refusing to look at her.

“You disappeared and I didn’t know where to find you.”

Felicity could feel a grin spreading on her face and she pinched her lips between two fingers in an attempt to stop it.

“What?” the annoyance and embarrassment in his voice hinted that she hadn’t done a good job at covering her smirk.

“That was, well, it was really histrionic, Oliver,” she replied, trying to tone her voice evenly. 

“I woke up in a dark room, with a horrendous hangover and you weren’t there.”

Felicity could tell by the way he paced himself, constantly touching his thumb to his other fingers, that he was trying to remain calm.

“Oliver, hey, I got up, had a shower, had some breakfast, lounged around for a while, had some lunch and came down here,” she listed her activities.

“To see Heath,” he added.

“Oh, please,” she rolled her eyes, “he’d been here for, like, five minutes, less, before you got here!”

He was quiet.

“Why’d you shower?” he asked.

“Excuse me?”

“Why did you have a shower when you left my room?”

“I was slightly hung over, feeling a bit queasy, a shower usually helps?”

That seemed to suffice as a good enough answer and Oliver nodded, humming at the back of his throat. He finally turned to her. 

“And Petty Officer Patton?”

“As far as he’s concerned,” Felicity sighed, “there is nothing going on between us, just like as far as I’m concerned, this is not a thing.”

“Not a thing,” Oliver nodded.

“They’ll send me home, Oliver,” she shrugged, “I’ll get brought up on misconduct charges, as will you, I’m just a sailor, but you’re a highly decorated officer, this won’t end well for you.”

“I know,” Oliver sighed, his shoulders tensing.

“So it was nothing.”

“Nothing.”

 

“It was nothing, Diggle,” Oliver assured him, turning the sweaty glass full of crushed ice in the condensation on the table.

“Nothing,” Diggle raised an eyebrow, hiding a sly smile behind his hand.

“Come on, Diggle, it would be a terrible idea to make it anything,” he explained. 

Diggle regarded Oliver, he seemed different, less uptight. Last night, when they were out, he’d been on edge. Coiled up tight, ready to snap under the strain of the operation they were planning. It was probably the first night Oliver had slept through. Diggle had heard him rustling around his cabin at all hours of the morning at Outpost Murphy. Oliver would tease Petty Officer Patton about his inability to sleep, but Diggle was sure it was just to mask his own deficit.

The Oliver of this morning had greeted Diggle with a smile, the crease between his eyebrows had all but disappeared. 

“Maybe she’d be good for you?” Diggle prompted.

“I wouldn’t be good for her,” Oliver shot straight back, his hands clasp on his stomach as he reclined in his chair slightly.

“Why?”

“Afghanistan is changing me, John,” Oliver gave a sombre reply, “the tour that I was captured, I was a different person when you pulled me from that house, I still have nightmares, Tommy and I have never talked about it, he refuses to, I need to talk about it sometimes.”

“You can always talk to me.”

“I’m losing who I was before I joined up.”

“That’s the thing about this war,” John leaned forward, as if about to tell Oliver a big secret, “It scraps off little pieces of your soul, and you need someone to remind you of who you are, not this thing you’re becoming as a result of it.”


	18. What Is and What Should Never Be

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hello. Prompt updating here. Hopefully keeping you all interested.
> 
> Just a little military jargon key here...  
> Blue Rocket: standard portable toilet that can be found everywhere on a base
> 
> This chapter is a little longer, so I hope you're happy to sit through something this length.
> 
> Cheers guys.

There was a time and a place to deal with the emotions of opening up so freely and willingly to another person. Oliver decided that on a brief hiatus from a deployment in the deep mountains of Afghanistan was certainly not it.

Oliver and Felicity actively avoided each other for the rest of the trip. When their small group dined together, it was in silence, save for niceties like “pass the salt” and “lovely weather today”. Diggle, Roy and Thea, and Heath were careful. They were aware of the air of awkwardness, the cursory glances, their fidgeting in each others presence, and Felicity’s succinct conversation in lieu of her babbling.

Heath, with his cool gaze, however, was also aware of the little things. The way Oliver lingered on Felicity when he thought nobody was looking, the perfectly fraudulent smile he wore to play the part, and the look on his face. The one that asked “what if…?” every time Felicity met his gaze and quickly glanced away.

They were back at the airport, dressed in their combat gear, watching a new Humvee and three crates of supplies being strapped onto the floor of the Hercules that was set to return them to Chapman before they were transported to Murphy.

“Hey,” Heath nudged Felicity with his shoulder as he came up behind her. She was watching the mechanics work, a look of deliberate concentration on her face.

“Hey,” she replied, vaguely.

“You good, dudette?”

“Yeah.”

“Have you spoken to the boss man?”

“I think you’re aware that I haven’t,” she folded her arms across her chest, defensively.

His tongue flicked out to lick his bottom lip as he considered his answer.

“You can probably get some time in the with counselor when we bump back, they have that confidentiality thing, it wouldn’t be a problem if you and Lieutenant Queen sat down with him and talked this all through,” he shrugged.

“Heath,” she sighed, “I love you, I really do, but please, stop.”

“No worries, Smoak,” he slung an arm around her shoulders and squeezed her closer.

“Thank you,” she whispered.

“You guys ready?” Diggle called out from the ramp, motioning for everyone to clamber aboard. 

Felicity and Heath got to the ramp at the same time as Oliver and Roy. Oliver pulled up quickly, pretending to check his phone.

“Okay,” Roy rolled his eyes and turned back to face Oliver. Hissed words were exchanged, Roy even jabbed an aggressive finger, first in Oliver’s face, and then his chest. Oliver’s shoulders rounded in defeat and he glanced over Roy’s shoulder at Heath and Felicity. 

They were both watching the event unfold, worried for Roy’s well being after giving his senior officer an apparent dressing down. 

“Felicity?” Oliver asked, stepping around Roy, “can I please speak to you before we bump back?”

Heath nudged Felicity, pushing her to respond.

“Ah,” she stammered after a pregnant pause, “sure.”

The two walked away as the rest of the teams filed up the ramp.

“Dude, what’d you say to him?” Heath asked Roy as the two of them watched Felicity and Oliver talking. 

Oliver ran a hand down Felicity’s arm, his head bobbing forward in a pleading manner.

“I told him to get his act together, talk through the problem like a lieutenant should, and stop making everything so difficult for everyone,” Roy explained.

“Valid,” Heath shrugged.

Felicity nodded, but she closed her eyes, a disappointed smile on her face.

“Ooh, that doesn’t look good,” Roy sympathised.

“Maybe they’ll hug it out?” Heath suggested.

Oliver was using his chin to argue, they realised and were about to interrupt, when Felicity’s accusing finger came up between them. She waggled it angrily once or twice and then it was her turn to poke him aggressively in the chest.

Oliver nodded, a little sheepishly. 

Felicity wrapped her arms around his neck and he eventually relented and pulled her in tight.

She smiled sadly at him and turned back to the plane.

Heath and Roy busied themselves by pretending to check each other’s gear.

“It’s sorted,” Felicity dismissed them as she strode past and up the ramp.

Oliver followed her, squinting critically at the two Petty Officers.

“Why do I get the feeling that I’m going to be a blue rocket duty when we get back?” Roy lamented, throwing his head back.

“Dude, good luck with that,” Heath laughed.

They trudged up the ramp, the last two to board, and they took to the two remaining seats to the left of Felicity.

Heath gave Felicity a pursed-lipped smile as he pulled his headphones and iPod out of his backpack.

“No hard feelings, ma’am?” Roy leaned across Heath’s lap.

“No, Roy, you did the right thing,” she assured him.

Roy nodded once and sat back in his seat, adjusting his scarf around his ears and face, preparing to brace against the noise and cold.

“I’m here if you need me, Felicity,” Heath whispered, as they both strapped in.

He adjusted his headphones and tipped his head back to rest against the side of the plane.

-

“Felicity?” Oliver asked, stepping around Roy, “can I please speak to you before we bump back?”

Felicity froze and it wasn’t until she felt Heath’s shoulder bump her own that she could reply.

“Ah, sure.”

They walked against the flow of men and stopped a few metres away from the plane.

“I’ve not handled this entire thing particularly well,” Oliver admitted.

“Line forms behind me,” Felicity smiled a little.

“It’s just, Felicity,” he ran his hand down her arm and took her hand, stooping slightly, “Because of this life that we lead, I just think that it's better to not be with someone that we could really care about.”

“Be that as it may, I think we deserve better,” she closed her eyes, hoping the smile on her face would stop her from crying.

“Trying to conjure up some kind of relationship between us at the moment is-”

She reefed her hand from Oliver’s grasp.

“Conjure up?” she spat, all of a sudden very animated, “I haven’t conjured anything up, I thought that there was some kind of mutual thing going on here, and if you don’t agree with me, then I don’t agree with you!”

“Maybe conjure was the wrong wor-”

“You think?”

“Felicity, I-”

“No!” she held a hand up to stop him talking, and then poked him in the chest, “You need to make a decision, stop dangling maybes, I’ll take your lead.”

“All right,” he nodded, “nothing happened, nothing will.”

“Done,” she hugged him, rising up on her tiptoes to put her arms around his neck. 

Oliver was stiff for a moment but then softened, placing a tender kiss on her neck. She jerked away, a smile the only bright feature on her otherwise sad face.

Felicity turned and saw Roy and Heath abruptly attempt to feign disinterest.

“It’s sorted,” she frowned at them, not breaking her stride as she headed up the ramp. 

There was one seat next to Diggle, or three seats right at the front of the plane. Felicity opted for the three seats, sensing Oliver would want the seat next to his friend. 

She sat down, stuffing her bag under her seat. Heath and Roy approached her tentatively and she glanced at them, smiling.

Heath sat down, followed by Roy, and gave Felicity a pursed-lipped smile as he pulled his headphones and iPod out of his backpack.

“No hard feelings, ma’am?” Roy leaned across Heath’s lap.

“No, Roy, you did the right thing,” she assured him.

Roy nodded once and sat back in his seat. 

“I’m here if you need me,” Heath whispered as Felicity busied herself with the complicated seat belt.

The engines roared to life before she could respond.

 

If you were going to fly comfortably within the belly of a Hercules, you needed to be creative. The seats slung along the walls of the fuselage were fashioned from criss-crossed webbing attached to metal tubing, and there was no way to lounge in any form of ease. The webbing cut circulation, there was never enough light within the plane to allow you to read, the bellowing motors made it difficult to hold a conversation and if you managed to nod off, you'd be guaranteed cramps and a sore bum on awakening.

Surreptitiously eyeing her fellow passengers, most of whom had somehow dozed off, Felicity inched over to the Humvee and discovered it was unlocked. She slid in, the non-existent foot wells in the back meant the floor was completely flat. She bundled her scarf up as a pillow, wiggled to get comfortable and promptly fell asleep.

She was startled awake in the dark by someone jostling her feet and grunting, dissatisfied with what was happening.

“What the fuck?” they growled.

“Can I fucking help you?” Felicity hissed into the dark at the even darker shape that was looming in the door of the Humvee.

“Smoak?”

“Yes.”

“When the fuck did you climb in here?”

“Oliver?”

“Yes.”

“About,” she paused to glance at her watch, “twenty minutes ago.”

“Is it comfortable?”

“Mhmm.”

She saw Oliver turn to leave.

“Oliver?” she startled herself when she heard the anxiety she heard in her voice.

“Are you okay?” she pictured his eyebrows pulling together in concern.

“Yeah,” she pulled herself upright. “Do you want me to move? You can stretch out for a little while?”

“No,” he moved to climb in and lay out on the bench seats, “I’ll be fine here.”

“I should-I should probably not stay in here,” she shuffled towards the door.

“Hey,” Oliver placed a big hand on her shoulder, “stay.”

Felicity laid down on her back and brought her knees up as Oliver quietly pulled the door closed.

“Can I ask you a question?” Felicity asked.

“Mhmm,” Oliver replied.

“Can you tell me about your first deployment?”

Oliver coughed abruptly. “That’s all black listed, how did you know about that?”

“Dig-gle…?” she squirmed.

“What did he tell you?” 

“Not much, just that you were held prisoner for five months.”

Oliver sighed.

“It felt like a cursed op from the beginning,” he shifted on to his back, reflecting Felicity’s position. “We’d had comms problems from the get go, and then it all went to hell in a hand basket. When we were captured, we were black on ammo and water, the fire fight we were involved in had gone on for hours.”

He scratched his beard.

“We had a four man SEAL team, me, Tommy, and two other guys I can’t name, not even their families know exactly what happened to them. By the end of the strong contact, we were ready to die, we expected to be shot dead on the spot, but we weren’t. I mean, they did shoot us, I got one through the shoulder, but they didn’t kill us.”

Felicity, having not expected Oliver to open up to her, cleared her throat.

“You don’t have to tell me, I’m sorry, I was nosy to ask,” she whispered.

“It’s okay, I’ll stop if I need to,” Oliver assured her. “So, we get our asses dragged back to this village and thrown in to this filth with these goats, they leave us for four or five days, we’ve got nothing, no food, no water, a few medical supplies to dress our wounds. They’ve taken all our comms equipment, so we can’t even get off a signal for rescue. When they do eventually come to us, we cop a beating, all of us, from ten or so men, they had knives and guns and they used them.”

Oliver unconsciously reached for a spot on his stomach, where Felicity knew there was a particularly twisted and deep slice of scar tissue.

“It was this cycle, barely enough water, beatings, gunshot wounds, stab wounds. There were times when I wanted to die. In the end, there was something I wanted more.”

“Laurel?”

Oliver took a deep breath and let it out unsteadily, “Yeah.”

“Oliv-”

“We were listed as MIA, not KIA, because there was never any bodies to find, I think it would have been better for Laurel, for our families, if they’d listed us as casualties of war, instead of just missing, I often wondered what everyone was doing, if people were still hopeful, or if they’d given up on the idea of ever seeing me again.”

“MIA means they were looking for you,” Felicity insisted.

Oliver nodded.

“We cleaned and dressed our wounds as best we could but after a month or so, it got difficult, our wounds got infected, things started to get weird in my head, I hallucinated, we were all losing our minds with fever and dehydration and infection. We had plotted our escape a couple of times, but were foiled fairly quickly, we were injured and had no real idea where we were and where we needed to go…”

In unison, the two of them roll on to their sides, the hand that Felicity reached up to place on the edge of the seat was quickly covered by Olivers.

“How often do you talk about this?” Felicity asked.

“Not very often.”

“Why?”

“Because if people knew, if you knew, you’d see me differently, and not as this tough SEAL that survived this horrendous situation, as damaged. When I first got home, I didn’t sleep, I barely ate. I could barely sign my name, let alone aim a gun. It took so long to get my anxiety down to a level deemed acceptable for redeployment.”

“PTSD?”

“Yeah, although I’d never admit it.”

“How much do you remember about your rescue?”

“Not much, the other two guys died a week before the Special Forces guys stormed the village,” Oliver shrugged awkwardly.

“Oh, Oliver.”

“I remember Diggle telling me that I was going to be okay, that I was going home, I would have cried if my face hadn’t been so swollen. I could barely see him, but he was there, encouraging and compassionate. It took them half an hour to move me to the helicopter for medevac. All bar one of my ribs were broken, it was _agony_ , Felicity.”

“Hey,” she moved her hand so she could hold his tightly.

“And Tommy, I didn’t know at the time that he was still alive, I thought he was dead like the other guys, they pulled him out of the house and he was screaming these tormented screams and it was almost a relief to me, his shouts were music to my ears, he was still alive.”

“Jesus, Oliver,” Felicity sighed.

“I had fractured both my eye sockets, a few partially healed fractures to my skull and my nose, the gunshots and stab wounds were grossly infected, I was in an induced coma for a week before I was well enough to be bumped back to America. I was still disorientated and dosed up on pain medication during the flight but I remember, the first face I saw when they rolled me out of the belly of the Herc was Diggle’s.”

“And you’ve been close ever since?”

“Kind of, I’m wary of people, I’m sure you’re conscious of that, it’s taken me right up until meeting you to let my guard down all the way, even Laurel and I were never quite right after it.”

“You don’t have to say that.”

“I do,” he insisted, “it’s the truth.”

“Maybe.”

“Sometimes I just don’t know how to deal with you,” he explained, “You’re just so delicate, but you’re also scary and a little inconvenient.”

“Backhanded compliment,” Felicity scoffed.

“We need to keep a clear head in these close operations,” Oliver’s voice was all of a sudden serious, “you and I both know that lives depend on that, you make it very hard to concentrate, I need tunnel vision in the lead up to these ops, and you’re always there on my peripheral.”

“Do you want me to ask for a posting back to the ship?”

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

“I’m not.”

“If we weren’t on this posting together,” Oliver started, “if we weren’t on Chinook together, I’d like to think that things between us would be quite different.”

“Oliver, literally an hour ago, we agreed-”

“I know, I know that I said that because of the life that I lead I can’t be with someone I truly care about, but-”

“Stop it,” Felicity snatched her hand away.

“You walked onto the bridge that day, and you were the first person I could see as a person, there was just something about you.”

“Yeah, I was cranky because I’d skipped breakfast.”

“Your stomach was grumbling.”

“Yeah,” Felicity nodded.

Oliver reached for her hand again. He squeezed it and then relaxed into an almost instant sleep.

“One day, Felicity,” he murmured, “one day.”


	19. Defending Felicity Smoak

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two in one day!! Holy moly! I'm only really doing this to further my effort to get a certain chapter ready and up for tomorrow.
> 
> Jargon key  
> CIC: Combat Iformation Centre  
> CHU: Containerised Housing Unit  
> TOC: Tactical Operations Centre

“Ready?” Oliver stopped short of the door and turned to Diggle.

“Yeah, man,” Diggle nodded.

Oliver nodded, taking a deep breath and pushing the door open.

Felicity was curled up under her covers, a hoodie covering most of her face.

“Petty Officer?” Oliver nudged the end of her bed.

“Mmm?” she stirred, eventually untangling herself from the sheets.

“Pack your bags,” Oliver ordered.

“Sea Charger?” Felicity blinked the sleep out of her eyes and sat up, fumbling for her glasses.

“No.”

“Then what’s happening?”

“You’re being returned to Chinook to retake your place in CIC,” Oliver explained.

Felicity stared blankly at Oliver and then at Diggle.

“Returned to…” she stood up, “how could you do this?”

“How could you fucking expect me not to?!” Oliver exploded.

“We’re back for less than a week and you get me posted home? That’s bullshit, and you know it.”

“How could I not?” Oliver thrust his chin forward, “Felicity, it’s become real clear to me that this, this isn’t where I need you to be. This isn’t safe.”

“It’s not safe?” she scoffed, “but surely it is when you guys are clambering over yourselves to protect me.”

Oliver and Diggle glanced at each other.

“This is because we fucked,” Felicity realised. “This is because we got drunk and we fucked.”

“No, that was nothing.”

“You’ve been saying that to me for five fucking days. It’s clear you still haven’t made up your mind.”

“This is good for all of us,” Oliver threw his arms open in an all-encompassing gesture, “You’ve got a future in the navy, something you can be proud of. Do you really see yourself hauling comm equipment up and down hills in Afghanistan?”

Felicity pushed passed the two men and flung open the door.

“Get out of here,” she spat maliciously.

“Look, I’m sorry,” Oliver tried to reason with her, grabbing her arm, “Come on, please.”

“Don’t,” she slapped his hand away, embarrassed at how upset she was.

“Please.”

“Don’t.”

“Come on.”

“Don’t,” Felicity launched herself at Oliver, “Get out of here!”

Oliver went to wrap his arms around her, trying to understand her anger.

“Fucker, get out!” she pushed him away.

“Felicity…”

“I said, GET OUT!” she gave him one last shove in the chest.

He looked away from her as she sat down on a chair, breathing heavily and glaring after him. Her eyes flicked to Diggle whose eyebrows were drawn together in confusion. He straightened his posture as Oliver turned back to say something to Felicity.

Deciding against it, Oliver glanced at Diggle and then left her room.

“Fuck,” Felicity was almost hyperventilating.

Oliver strode out and lent against the wall, the door nearly hitting Diggle on the way out. He allowed it to close gently.

“Did that really just fucking happen?” Oliver asked, a little bewildered.

They heard some crashing and a gutterally shouted “Mother fucker!” presumably as the contents of Felicity’s desk scattered across the floor.

Glancing back at the source of the noise briefly, Oliver and Diggle moved outside, the hot wind kicking up the dust around them.

“That was fucked up,” Oliver berated himself.

“What did you expect?” Diggle continued to let Oliver know he’d messed up.

“What is that supposed to mean, John?” 

“You’ve lost your handle on this, this thing with Felicity,” Diggle started, “you give her a little bit, you let her think that she’s doing the right thing, that she’s earned your approval, but then you turn around and want to send her home? You say you’ll take a step back, let her handle herself, which, by the by, she’s done a pretty fucking ace job of, but then you jump down the throat of any man that dares to sit next to her. It makes no fucking sense!”

“Like any of this makes any fucking sense,” he gestured back at the CHU and, presumably, Felicity, “She doesn’t belong here, we can’t keep her safe.”

“Oliver, I’m your friend,” Diggle warned, “and I will fight to the death with you, but you’re wrong about this girl. You have lost the ability to see her as the soldier she is. She is perfectly capable of carrying her own weight. She’s being a damn sight bigger person about this than you.”

“We need her here, sir,” came a voice from the door to the CHU. 

Oliver’s head snapped in the direction of the newcomer. Heath stood, leaning against the frame, his arms folded across her chest.

“Excuse me, Petty Officer?” 

“With all due respect, sir, we need her here, she’s smart, and capable, and a whole lot better at working the intricate comms system than we are,” he shrugged. “It’d be a mistake to send her home. Nobody in your team would ever trust you again.”

“And just why is that?”

“Because,” Heath trotted down the two cinder block steps and stood toe to toe with Oliver, “Felicity keeps us focused, you don’t understand the effect that her endless positivity has on us.”

“We can do this op without her,” Oliver argued, not stepping down from the young sailor who was a good two or three inches taller than him.

“Yeah, you pull her out of the team now, start chopping and changing positions and responsibilities, we’ll be up shit creek without a paddle,” Heath squared his shoulders, and lowered his voice. “If she doesn’t fall in beside us, it all comes apart.”

The CHU door flung open with such force that one of the hinges snapped and pieces of it went skittering across the ground. Felicity came charging towards where the three men stood and squeezed herself between Oliver and Heath.

“Listen here, Lieutenant,” she spat the title like it meant absolutely nothing to her right now, “I am staying here and I am doing this fucking op, whether it’s with your team or the other SEAL team, I could not give a flying fuck at a rolling donut, I am not bumping back to that shitty CIC on Chinook.”

“I need you to be safe.”

“I don’t want to be safe, I want to be with you, and everyone else, unsafe,” she pleaded.

“I can’t let that happen,” Oliver shook his head.

“Oliver…”

Oliver looked over Felicity’s shoulder at Heath, and then to his right, finding Diggle. Both of them had their hands on their hips, a stance so common amongst them all. Heath’s eyes bore into him, almost daring him to stand his ground on Felicity’s re-posting. Diggle was harder to read, his cool gaze leveled at him. 

Felicity, seemingly still with plenty to say, clicked her fingers in Oliver’s face.

“Listen, you don’t want anything to do with me personally, fine, but professionally, I am the best thing you’ve got right now,” she argued, “If you want to ignore me and pretend that Dubai never happened and that there isn’t a giant fucking elephant in the room, go ahead, but Sea Charger depends on comms and someone who can work the computers, it’s not just any idiots job to do that, it’s mine.”

“Fine!” Oliver threw his hands in the air. “Stay here then!”

“I will!”

“Good!”

“Good!”

The two turned away from each other, marching off in different directions. Oliver was headed towards the chow hall, Felicity to her hideout, the TOC, leaving Heath and Diggle raising their eyebrows at each other.

 

Oliver sat down angrily at a table near the kitchen and was surprised when one of the E3s working there placed a hot cup of coffee in front of him.

“You look like you could use it, sir,” was all he said before leaving a small jug of milk and walking away.

Oliver hadn’t even swallowed the first sip when the enemy raid siren sounded. He pursed his lips together, eyebrows drawn together in concern. 

The chow workers were throwing on tactical vests and helmets, running to their action stations. Oliver, without any of his armour or a weapon, was forced outside and directed to return to his CHU.

“Where’s Felicity?” he yelled at Heath over the monotonous drone that was threatening to deafen them. 

“She’s at the TOC!” Heath roared back, pulling on his vest and slamming a magazine into his pistol.

“Is it a car or a drone or…?”

“No idea, sir!” 

The siren ran for another three minutes, then fizzled out abruptly.

“All personnel, false alarm, I repeat, false alarm, stand down.”

Heath and Oliver, from where they were knelt at the window of CHU, breathed a collective sigh of relief.

“Well,” Heath breathed shakily, a hand going to his chest, “that was my exercise for the day.”

Oliver laughed wryly.

He wasn’t sure when it happened, but his small group of people he considered more than team mates had acquired one more person.

Heath Patton.

Sure, the kid was a little young at heart, but he had a good head, a steady hand and was unflappable out on operations, whether it was one of stealth or an assassination. Oliver appreciated that kind of man on his team. He’d be dead ten times over if it weren’t for the beach loving hippie that seemed to have a sixth sense for when any of his team mates were in trouble. 

Just the previous night, his mind still clouded from the events in Dubai, Oliver had nearly had his throat slit by a man waiting in the shadows of a blacked out house. Heath had thrown the man nearly across the room and kept him in the corner, his rifle trained on him, until the rest of the house was cleared.

That was the incident that made Oliver second guess Felicity’s place on Operation Sea Charger and his team.

“So, Smoak is my friend, sir,” Heath turned to him, unclipping his helmet and tossing it gently aside.

“I know,” Oliver assured him.

“Out of this uniform, we’re just two guys, sir, please know that I would have no hesitation when it comes to breaking your nose if you hurt her.”

“I know.”

“So we’re clear,” Heath pushed himself to his feet and held a hand out to Oliver, “you look after her, keep her here, keep her smiling, don’t lead her on, and we don’t have an issue.”

“When we get home,” Oliver started.

“From now on,” Heath ordered as if he were the senior ranked of the two.

Oliver would have argued if Heath hadn’t spoken the truth and been so genuine and unselfish in his defense of Felicity.


	20. Overthinking, Underacting

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello dearest, darlingest people who are reading. Someone asked for an insight into how Oliver and Felicity are feeling about each. Why they're going hot and cold so often and swiftly. I hope that this is something that lends itself to that. 
> 
> I'll post a chapter when I finish work tonight. It's Remembrance Day in Australia today, and I feel like it's the perfect chapter for that.

Felicity Meghan Smoak.

The one he couldn’t have. The one he couldn’t keep.

Oliver regretted his childish behaviour, it was reminiscent of summers spent at the lake house, fighting with Thea about the most trivial subjects.

With a day of rest ahead of him, Oliver was determined to get himself together, work out exactly where his head was and straighten out the situation.

He skipped breakfast and, instead, busied himself with taking his dirty uniforms to the laundry, sweeping out his room and reorganising the minimal contents of his wardrobe.  
A knock mid morning had him opening the door to Heath.

“Sir,” he saluted respectfully, “there’s a call for you in the TOC.”

“In the TOC?”

“Sir.”

“Who is it?”

“I’m not sure, sir,” Heath shrugged, “I’m just the runner today.”

“Alright, hang on,” Oliver closed his door, grabbed a shirt and his shoes and followed Heath back to the TOC.

The Petty Officer heaved the door open and held it open for Oliver, who strode in with all the confidence in the world.

“Lieutenant Queen, that phone, sir,” a sub lieutenant pointed to the phone on the desk next to him.

“This one?”

“Yes, sir.” 

“This is Lieutenant Oliver Queen,” he picked up the phone.

“This is Lieutenant Commander Thomas Merlyn,” came the jibing reply.

Oliver’s demeanor changed instantly. “Tommy!”

“We’re in port in Jacksonville, thought I would use my powers and touch base with you,” he explained. The line the crackling terribly, but the phone call from his best friend could not have come at a better time.

“Jacksonville?”

“Mayport.”

“How’s the weather?” Oliver closed his eyes, picturing the sprawling beach that was nearly empty even in the height of summer.

“Delightful, my friend, absolutely delightful, anyway, what’s happening with you?”

“Not much,” Oliver’s reply came out slightly forced.

“That’s a bullshit answer if I’ve ever heard one,” Tommy spat.

“I fucked up,” Oliver sighed, rubbing his brow.

“On an op?”

“No.”

There was a long silence between them and Oliver could hear Tommy’s mind working, jumping from one possibility to the next. He wondered if he was going to guess, or if Oliver would have to spell it out, embarrassingly clearly, in the presence of everyone in the room.

Tommy groaned. “Tell me you didn’t.”

“It depends.”

“Petty Officer Smoak?”

“There is a chance that-”

“Fuck me, Oliver, you can’t keep it in your pants for one fucking deployment with a woman?”

“I tried to get her sent home yesterday, she was pretty pissed,” he turned away from everyone, lowering his voice.

“I can’t imagine,” Tommy’s voice was dripping with sarcasm.

“I told you I fucked up.”

“Did you fuck her?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Fuck.”

Oliver chewed on his lip. Tommy was still swearing under his breath.

“Who knows?”

Oliver explained, at length, in great detail but still covertly, the events leading up to, during and after Dubai. He realised, midway through his story, that he didn’t have a single bad memory of Felicity and their time living in close quarters. Even their arguments stirred something positive in him. 

“Jesus Christ,” Tommy sighed, “you know what has happened?”

“No…?”

“You’ve been Smoaked,” Tommy explained.

Oliver scoffed, defensive.

“You’re not the first, that tiny little thing can charm the pants off anyone, no pun intended.”

“Smoaked?”

“Yep.”

“You just can’t do anything about it,” Tommy teased.

“I could re-enter the request to post her home,” Oliver shrugged.

“Ha, I would like to see you try, I am willing to bet that when you told her you were sending her home, she went wild?”

“There was a lot of voice raising and swearing.”

“I’ll refuse any transfer request that finds its way onto my desk,” Tommy said defiantly.

There was a loud crackle and a beep.

“Shit, Tommy, the call is about to drop.”

“Keep – your pants, don’t fuck – just be the officer – pay you – wait until – home,” came the disjointed reply, and then the phone was silent.

“Fuck,” Oliver put the handset to his chin.

In spite of Heath’s warning the previous day, he was going to have wait until they were home. It was the only way to keep their records untarnished.

 

Oliver Jonas Queen.

A man who drove her half mad. Who made her feel like never before.

She just wanted answers. She wanted a definitive yes or no. Not a maybe, not a “we’ll see” and certainly not an “I just don’t know”. She wanted to feel her heart swell when he spoke to her. A “Let’s just do it” said in such a spontaneous moment that she had to pause and replay the moment, making sure it just happened.

She refused to be sent home, couldn’t understand why Oliver didn’t see that her offer was merely there to calm the waters.

She needed to do some thinking, and she needed him to do the same. Also, perhaps, she needed more. She know that he probably didn’t want to hear it, and it had only been a few months, but she was no longer the same Felicity, the young, naïve, little blonde, that Oliver had rode in the helicopter with. 

They’d been through a lot together and she hoped that they’d go through a lot more. Together. Whether it was together in a side by side manner or together in a hand in hand kind of way. Fidelity probably wasn’t always his objective in life. She was 24, he was 28. They were no longer children. She knew she was young, but this deployment and everything that had happened, the good, the bad and the downright nightmarish, had changed, she’d grown, her shell had hardened, as had her mind.

Quite frankly, she loved him too much to share him with anyone else. She didn’t want to share him with other women, some steady, like Laurel, some passing and nameless. She’d heard stories from the other guys. She didn’t want to depend on his moods for happiness.

She hoped that he’d get past the ‘pride, honour and integrity’ line that he kept feeding her. She also hoped that what they had wasn’t simply as a result of their situation. She dreaded the thought of going home (now or at the end of the deployment) and finding out that they were as different as chalk and cheese. 

Felicity understood the wariness with which they regarded each other. The ramifications of being found out by Commander Steele (or anyone else higher up) were extreme. The misconduct charge they’d be on the receiving end of would mar what were otherwise stellar records for the both of them.

That fateful night in Dubai had not been her first one night stand. Let that be known right now. She'd probably yell that at Oliver if he kept up his weird attitude. His very Oliver-esque attitude, the one she'd been warned about. Still, despite all of this, it was her first one night stand where she didn't want it to be simply that.

She had known what she had wanted to say to him for a very long time now. All of it. Everything. She’d tell him everything. When the time was right. When they were home, with the prospect of being posted to different ships.

Maybe.

She knocked on Heath’s door. He opened it before she’d finished. He’d clearly just gotten back from a day of work at the TOC. His cover jacket was open, his boots unlaced. 

“Smoak,” he nodded, mussing his curly hair, “you alright?”

She pointed at his trainers, tucked neatly under the foot of his bed.

“I need to run,” she sighed, _until my mind goes blank_ , she wanted to add.


	21. Smoke in Our Lights

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, this chapter is a monster. I couldn't decide where to break it down at. No place seemed right.
> 
> More notes at the end.
> 
> Jargon Key.  
> MRE: Meal, Ready to Eat  
> LT: Lieutenant  
> LZ: Landing Zone  
> PO1: Petty Officer First Class  
> CHU: Containerised Housing Unit  
> CIC: Combat Information Centre

Four months to the day since she arrived at Outpost Murphy was a day that Felicity would never forget. 

As part of an operation completely separate from Sea Charger, the two SEAL platoons were assigned a particular building to keep watch over a small village about a two hour drive from Murphy. It was suspected that tribesmen who allied with the Taliban were smuggling weapons through the village and it was the SEAL team’s job to confirm the report and put an end to it. 

They’d been there for three days now, living off MREs, bottled water and minimal sleep.

Felicity was lucky enough to be paired with Heath in a west facing two storey building that had been abandoned since before they were posted to Afghanistan. Diggle and Oliver were two streets over, their position facing east. The houses on the street in between were single level so they were in visual and verbal contact with each other. 

They had been in the same position for four or five hours now and, with not a lot of movement below them, were starting to get fidgety.

“Goddamn, my ass is numb,” Heath stated, squinting down the scope of his rifle to the right of their position. 

“Mine too,” Felicity squirmed on top of the milk crate she was sitting on, binoculars in hand. 

“Are you still getting shit from the young guys here because you’re a girl?” Heath asked, all of a sudden very serious. Felicity couldn’t recall a time she had seen him so humourless.

“Did Oliver put you up to this?” she asked.

“What? No,” he replied.

“Heath…”

“No, seriously, dudette, LT hasn’t said shit to me about it, I was just curious,” he shrugged, looking a little hurt, “but if you don’t want to talk about it, whatever.”

“It bugged me,” Felicity explained, “for ages I got really annoyed, I don’t care so much anymore.”

“What was the worst thing someone said to you?”

Felicity thought about it for a second.

“Not so much the worst, but the stupidest?” she looked over to him and he glanced at her. “One guy was like, ‘but what are we supposed to do if we’re out on patrol and you get your period?’ and I was like, ‘Jesus, someone on the front line is bleeding, what on Earth are you going to do?’”

Heath snickered. “Some of them are so stupid.”

“Yep, I thought SEALs were supposed to be smart.”

“We are, for the most part.”

“Can you imagine, somebody on the front line gets shot or something, and all the medic can do is run around with the same hysteria as the boys have about my presence at Murphy,” Felicity was giggling. “So ridiculous.”

“Hey,” Heath drew out the word in a way that Felicity could only describe as apprehensive.

“Mmm?” Felicity replied with the same tone.

“Thanks for being, well, you know, you,” he shrugged.

“I try,” she replied, smiling at him.

Heath cleared his throat. “If we both weren’t in the navy, if there were very different circumstances, I’d be trying to date the shit out of you.”

“That’s very sweet of you,” Felicity tried to stop where this conversation was headed.

“But, you are a really cool chick,” Heath continued, and Felicity realised the divergent path she was pushing him towards was not necessary, “and I’m glad you’re here to keep everyone in line, you have been a breath of fresh air on this deployment, and a wonderful friend.”

“Th-thank you,” she replied, on the verge of tears. She shifted slightly and kissed Heath on the cheek.

“But seriously, meeting you was pretty much the best thing about this deployment, I love you, in a completely platonic way,” he continued.

“Heath, you’re pretty much the greatest friend I have ever had,” Felicity told him, squeezing his shoulder, “thanks for being one of the best. I love you, too.”

“When you two are quite done,” Oliver’s voice interrupted them, “you can take a break, eat something, drink some water, you’ve got five minutes.”

“You hungry?” Felicity asked, after she’d wiped the smirk off her face. Oliver’s jealously pleased her no end.

Heath shook his head, shifting his position slightly.

“Me neither,” she stood up, “I’ll just go grab some water.”

She jogged down the stairs and to the small pile of rations under a blanket in the corner.

Trudging back up the stairs with a six pack of bottled water, she was still feeling her heart soar from Heath’s complimentary confession.

As she reached the top of the stairs she heard Oliver’s voice over the comms, a sense of uneasiness in the way he spoke.

“Patton, Smoak, have you got a visual on a flatbed truck parked at your nine o’clock?”

“Negative,” Heath replied.

Felicity dropped the water bottles on the ground, racing to the window the try and get eyes on the truck Oliver was talking about.

“We’ve got nothing,” Felicity told Oliver, leaning out conspicuously and looking down to her left.

Oliver’s urgent “RPG!” was deafening in her ears. 

She glanced up, seeing Oliver’s shadowy figure across the street. She was momentarily unable to comprehend what was happening. She made eye contact with Heath as they both turned from the window. 

“Smoak, we’ve got an incoming!” he hollered, wide eyed, grabbing both her shoulders.

She felt herself propelled forward, but the grenade had not hit the house yet. She felt Heath’s firm grip leave her biceps and then felt a forceful shove land in between her shoulders. The stairwell came closer and closer.

She didn’t even have any time to react, other than shutting her eyes and covering her head. The explosion was deafening, the entire building shook, a rumble seemed to indicate an imminent collapse.

She had to lay there for a few minutes, her ears ringing. She wiggled her toes and fingers. Trying to open her eyes, she found she couldn’t. She did have a terrifying thought that maybe she was dead. But then she heard someone screaming her name.

 _It’s just shock,_ she kept telling herself. _Push through it._

“Heath?” she coughed, eventually opening her eyes to a room filled with dust. She kicked at the debris and crawled up the top three stairs on shaking limbs.

Her face felt sticky and she went to wipe away whatever it was, realising too late that she was covered in a fine mist of blood.

“Patton?” she tried again, as he stomach turned at the realisation that what she thought was dust in the air, was actually blood and other human matter.

She stood very still, trying to keep her breathing under control.

“Felicity?” she could hear Oliver now, they were close, maybe just outside the building. “Patton?”

Every ounce of training went out the window. She didn’t bother to follow the enemy with her rifle, trying to draw a bead on them. In fact, she didn’t bother with her rifle at all. It was dropped at her feet. 

She got eyes on Heath and she was sure that the whole world just stopped for one terrifyingly, dizzyingly long second. She could hear the valves of her heart. A deafening ba-boom, ba-boom. 

“Oh fuck,” she choked. She could only see the top half of his body, his eyes wide opened, mouth slack. From the waist down, there was nothing but torn skin and ruptured organs.

“I’m sorry!” she screamed, throwing her hands in the air and then bringing them to her knees. “I’m so sorry!”

-

“Felicity!” Oliver yelled, racing across the street and through the door.

He could hear her screaming, but he couldn’t tell if she was hurt.

“Felicity!” Oliver was at the top of the stairs now. “Felicity, oh thank fuck, where’s He-oh fuck me!” 

“No, no, no, no, no,” he watched her fall to her knees and crawl towards Heath. “No, no, no.”

“Fuck me!” Oliver repeated. 

“Queen?” Diggle asked, a few steps below him and not privy to the site that Oliver currently was.

“Heath’s dead,” he informed him.

Diggle pursed his lips, taking in a short breath and letting it out angrily. 

“I’ll call for a transport out of here,” Diggle turned and sat on the step, taking the radio out of his pocket.

Oliver nodded and, still with his gun raised, stepped slowly towards Felicity. Out the window, he could see the truck speeding away, so he lowered his gun and continued to her. She was next to Heath, on her knees, holding desperately onto one of his hands with both her own. She was bent over, her forehead pushed up against her wrists, sobbing.  
He dropped to one knee beside her, placing a hand on the small of her back. She just kept crying.

“Oliver,” Diggle called softly, “there’s a black hawk on the way.”

Oliver nodded over his shoulder.

“Felicity?” he tried. 

She moved one hand from the tight grip and reached sideways for Oliver. He couldn’t grab her hand in time, not before it found his knee, and she squeezed his leg hard, sobbing louder.

He made sure his rifle was slung appropriately and grasped her hand, his other still firm against her back. He hoped that this was reassuring her, supporting her. He hoped that this was what she wanted from him, what she would expect from him in a situation like this.

“This is my fault,” she cried.

“Hey, no, ssh,” he rubbed her back.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered.

“Don’t be,” Oliver whispered back.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” she repeated, and Oliver realised she wasn’t talking to him.

Diggle was perched at the window, scanning the 180 degrees of the town he could see. They had another team a few more streets over who were facing west, and between them, they had each others backs.

“We couldn’t get them, sir, I’m sorry,” Roy’s voice came over the comms.

“It’s fine,” Diggle replied evenly, despite his hands shaking with anger, “There’s a Blackhawk en route, we’re going to rendezvous at the original LZ.”

“Roger. We’ll wait for orders.”

“Dig, you got a bag?” Oliver asked.

Diggle nodded, taking off his back pack and toeing it towards him. Oliver rifled through the rucksack, finding the sealed bag and pulling it from the bottom. He tore open the outer bag with his teeth, still with only one working hand; the other was clenched tightly in Felicity’s. 

He shook the bag so that it unfolded. Realising he’d need two hands for the next part, he brought Felicity’s hand to his mouth, kissed it and placed it on the ground near where she still clung to Heath’s.

He unzipped the tarp and laid it on the floor.

“The black hawk is ten minutes out,” Diggle said.

“I’m gonna need your help.”

Diggle nodded and allowed his rifle to drop to his side on the strap slung across his chest. 

“Do you think we should give her a few more minutes?” Diggle suggested.

“We don’t have time, Dig,” Oliver sighed.

Diggle nodded and knelt down next to Felicity.

“Come on, Smoak, we gotta go,” he whispered in her ear.

“We can’t just leave him here,” she wailed as Diggle pulled her upright.

“We’re not, we’re not, he’s coming with us,” Diggle assured her, indicating the tarp on the floor.

“You can’t put him in there,” she hiccupped, her snivels returning to howls. Diggle helped her to her feet and she buried her face in his arm pit, clinging to his arm and one strap on his vest. 

“We have to, Felicity,” Diggle whispered in her ear, kissing the side of her head. 

“No we don’t,” she pulled away, speaking in such a way that she was almost begging.

“We do,” Diggle pushed hair off her face, “You don’t have to watch.”

Oliver watched as Felicity walked to the window, silently giving her permission for them to do whatever they had to. He gently lifted Heath’s upper half onto the tarp as Diggle collected what was left of his legs.

“Roy, you and Ramirez need to double time it to our location, we will need assistance to the LZ,” Oliver thumbed the comms button on his collar as Diggle zipped up the body bag.

“Roger, sir, on our way,” Roy replied.

It took them five minutes to reach their position, Oliver watching as they threaded their way through the street. Roy looked up at Oliver who was stood in the window, peering out with binoculars, next to Diggle who was ready with his rifle. 

Roy raised an eyebrow in question and Oliver felt a lump form in his throat as he shook his head. 

Felicity was sat on the ground next to the body bag and, when Oliver turned around, she moved a hand to rest on top of Heath’s chest.

“Felicity, we need to start moving,” Oliver insisted.

She nodded and pulled her hand away. “I don’t want to carry him, sir.”

Oliver held out a hand to help her up. “You won’t have to.”

“LT?” Roy called from the bottom floor.

“We’re coming!” Oliver replied, gently nudging Felicity towards the stairs.

He watched as she lent heavily against the wall, her legs shaking as she descended the staircase. Oliver could see, by the reaction from Roy, that Felicity looked as terrible as he thought she did. Roy slung his weapon to the side and opened his arms to help Felicity take the last few steps. She stumbled a little and Roy wrapped his arms around her shoulders as she buried her face in his neck, her hands going up between them to try and muffle her guttural sobs.

His fingers splayed over her back, across her shoulders, her ribs, as if her sadness would seep out through the spaces and disappear altogether. He squeezed her shoulder and rubbed her back, looking slightly shell shocked. 

Roy’s eyes flicked from the body bag, to Oliver, then back to the body bag. His eyebrows creased, an internal agony.

Oliver had forgotten that Heath and Roy had been close too.

“Roy,” Oliver heard Felicity whisper. It was a snotty, watery murmur that pulled Oliver’s stomach in a thousand different directions.

“You’re okay, Blondie,” he kissed the side of her head.

“Let’s keep moving,” Oliver interrupted as softly as he could from the top of the stairs. He jostled with the handles on the body bag as he and Diggle took careful steps.

The helicopter landed behind the house and they were safe in its confines within a few minutes. Oliver and Diggle loaded Heath Patton’s body in the back and then climbed in. Roy and Ramirez helped Felicity into the helicopter and Oliver made room for her next to him. 

Roy and Oliver seemed to have reached a silent understanding. 

Do not let go of Felicity.

Roy kept a hold of her hand until Oliver had hands on her, guiding her into a jump seat, the furthest away from Heath. He strapped her in, brushed as much loose debris out of her hair as he could and thumbed away a few tears, succeeding only in smearing some blood across her cheek. He turned to give the pilot a thumbs up with one hand, keeping a few soft fingertips on Felicity’s thigh.

“Popping plus six,” the pilot spoke into his radio, indicating that they were lifting off fast, popping like popcorn, with six extras on board.

Felicity sat the entire trip gnawing on her thumbnail, her dirty face streaked with tears. Her nail biting was making Oliver anxious so he took her hand and pulled it into his lap between his own. She tried to pull her hand free but he held on tight, catching her eye.

He narrowed his eyes at her and her face crumbled as she leaned into his chest. He pulled her face up to his so he could talk in her ear.

“You’re going to be okay, Felicity, I promise you.”

“I get too attached, too easily,” she was still hiccupping as she pressed her lips to his ear to be heard. “I’m not fit for this.”

“Felicity, you’ve spent the past four months trying to convince me that you were fit enough for this!” he argued.

“I changed my mind,” she replied, sitting back in her seat.

Oliver put his hand on the back of her neck and pulled her back to him, “Uh uh, this is not something you can change your mind on.”

She didn’t say anything.

“This is a change of heart,” he insisted, “and you, Petty Officer Felicity Meghan Smoak, are the most stubborn person I know, you don’t just have a change of heart. I am so proud of you, so proud of the way you have handled everything that has been thrown at you. You could not have done anything diff-”

“It should have been me,” she cried.

“No, nope,” he shook his head and took her face in his two hands, “you do not get to think like that.”

When the Blackhawk landed on the tarmac, Diggle, Roy, Ramirez and the two crewman unloaded Petty Officer Patton’s body bag, leaving the two pilots to shut down the aircraft and Felicity and Oliver in the back, still sat hand in hand.

“You let me know when you’re ready,” Oliver eventually spoke up, “Diggle is a step ahead of us, he’ll put towels and wet packs in the shower shed and clear it too, you can shower in peace again, whatever you need, we can get the psych to come to your room, you can talk it through with him, anything Felicity, just let me know.”

“I need a shower, I need you,” she whispered.

“Okay, all right, let’s go,” he jumped out the door and reached for her. 

She strode ahead of Oliver and he kept pace, just a few steps behind. 

Word of Petty Officer Patton’s death seemed to have spread quickly, people were congregating under the shade cloth outside the chow hall. When Felicity and Oliver walked past, the whole place fell silent.

Felicity marched without acknowledging anybody but when Oliver did a general salute as he passed, it was returned automatically by everybody sat there.

There were four men in the showers when the two of them got there.

“Excuse me, everyone?” Felicity spoke quietly.

Oliver stood behind her.

“Excuse me, everyone?” she raised her voice.

The men in the showers turned to her. 

“Can I please have some privacy?” she asked, the taps turning off before she even finished her sentence, “Your presence is required at the chow hall.”

Men bailed out of the showers, wrapping towels around their waists, juggling their clothes, boots and wet packs out the door.

“Sir, who was it?” one of them stopped beside Oliver.

“PO1 Heath Patton,” Oliver whispered his reply, and then motioned with his head for him to continue.

After they’d left, Felicity looked up to the ceiling, her eyes closed. She took in a deep breath and let it out shakily. Then she started tearing at her combat gear. The vest came off in two pieces, tearing at the seams, and Oliver heard the ceramic plates hit the floor. She unzipped her boots and kicked them the length of the shower shed. She hoped on one foot, then the other, as she tore both pairs of socks off. Her face was flushed with anger. She pulled at her cover jacket and only when it got stuck on her watch, did Oliver step in to help.

“Steady, Petty Officer,” he whispered, taking her by the elbow and gently tugging at the troublesome sleeve. 

Felicity was still now and Oliver took the hint, taking off his vest, cover jacket and boots and shoes. Unlike Felicity, he placed his in a neat pile next to the towels, clean clothes and toiletries that had, no doubt, been left there by Diggle.

Oliver mirrored Felicity as she took off her trousers, her toes wiggling nervously. She pulled her shirt over her head, Oliver hearing her shoulder crack as she did so. He pulled his shirt off too, leaving him in his trunks. 

Felicity turned to a shower stall and stepped in. Oliver followed and pulled the curtain across. 

“You okay?” he asked as she turned the shower on.

“No sir,” she shook her head, pursing her lips, “and I don’t think I will be for a while.”

“Okay,” Oliver nodded.

Felicity removed the grip that held her hair in a braid and mussed it loose. She tipped her head back into the stream of water and Oliver instinctively moved to push the wet hair off her face, guiding the flow of water away from her eyes. She placed her hands on his shoulders as one of his hands went to the middle of her back, the other pushing at the dirt and blood in her hair, on her face and down her neck.

“You okay?” Oliver asked again.

“Yeah, I just, I need to take my bra off,” she sighed. 

“Alright,” Oliver pulled her up and close to him, one hand undoing the clasp of her bra.

“Thank you,” she whispered in his ear.

She pulled her arms out of the straps and let the bra fall to the floor. Her hands went to her underwear and she pulled them down, stepping out of them. 

“Felicity,” Oliver voice was low and full of warning.

“I’m covered in glass and dirt and grime and blood, I’m past caring,” she sighed, closing her eyes and tipping her head back again.

Oliver took off his trunks, letting them hit the floor with a wet ‘thwack’.

Felicity leaned against the wall, giving Oliver room to step under the showerhead. He completely cloaked her, his hands pressing against the wall, going to either side of her shoulders as his head dropped forward. The water hit the back of his head and neck, right at the spot that always ached.

They stood like that for a while, both of them with their eyes closed. Oliver jumped slightly when he felt Felicity pressed her forehead to his. 

“I’m tired, Oliver, I’d really like to go home,” she whispered.

“I know,” he breathed, “Two more months, Felicity, and we’ll get three months stateside.”

“Two months,” she repeated.

“Yep.”

She wrapped her arms around his waist and pulled herself closer to him. Oliver finally opened his eyes when she tucked her head under his chin. He ran his hands down her back, stopping on her hips, and retracing his movements back up, enveloping her in an embrace. The water ran for four or five more minutes before it started to go cold. 

The two of them took the hint and got out. They dried themselves silently. Got dressed silently. Just before they left the shower shed, Felicity tucked herself against Oliver’s side. Oliver reached around and pulled her closer.

As they crossed to their CHU, Diggle opened the door, a sympathetic smile on his face. 

“Psych is here,” he mouthed to Oliver.

Oliver nodded.

Felicity, instead of going to her room, went straight to Heath’s. She closed the door behind her and Oliver heard the all too familiar groan of the tired bed frame as she laid down.  
Diggle motioned for the psych and pointed to Patton’s doorway.

After he went inside, Oliver and Diggle sat on either side of his door. 

“You okay, man?” Diggle asked, quietly.

“Yeah, I’m just, I’m sick of seeing her hurt,” he replied.

“You can’t protect her from everything,” Diggle asserted.

“I know,” Oliver hung his head, “but I can try.”

“Do you want to talk about it?” Diggle offered.

Oliver shook his head.

“You’re allowed to let this get to you, this senseless loss, Oliver, her senseless loss, you are allowed to take a minute to be sad.”

“I don’t have the luxury of falling to pieces, everyone is looking to me to make the right decisions, and everyone is looking to me to lead. If I grieve, no one else gets to. Felicity, Roy, they need some time, they lost a friend.”

“So did you,” Diggle pointed out.

“I have to be here for her.”

“Listen, I get it, we both have military training, stay on task, someone you know gets shot, you just keep fighting, but Oliver-”

“I’m fine.”

“That’s terrific,” Diggle’s voice dripped with sarcasm, “but I’m here for you just the same.”

There was a brief pause.

“John?” Oliver could barely hear himself, he wasn’t sure if Diggle had.

Diggle turned his head slightly, though, indicating he had.

“I don’t want to die here.”

“So don’t, Oliver.”

They sat in silence for twenty minutes, the occasional muted whisper was the only thing audible from Patton’s room.

Then.

“I don’t know what to do anymore!” Felicity cried, “I can’t keep everyone safe, I can’t even keep myself safe! I didn’t fucking ask for this, I was happy on the ship, content to carry on as I was, then some fucking idiot decides to haul me out of CIC and throw me into a SEAL team? What the FUCK?”

Oliver glanced at Diggle. This is what they had been waiting for. For her to let loose and tell somebody how she was really feeling about this deployment.

“Alright, Felicity,” the psych held an even tone with her, “let’s get back to the specifics of today.”

There was silence and both Diggle and Oliver craned their necks to try and listen.

“It was an appalling experience,” they heard Felicity say. “And the saddest day of my life too. Heath and I kept together, we were close in age, we had the same sense of humour, we liked the same things.”

Oliver closed his eyes and pushed against the headache that was forming at his brow.

“But it’s all over now,” she continued, her voice indifferent, “I just feel a bit different somehow. I’ll go softlier and saddlier all my days, I think.”

“Fuck,” Oliver whispered.

“But these are sad and serious times, are they not?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So. 
> 
> Let me just tell you how much that fucking sucked to write. I think I stopped writing for like, four weeks after slogging through that. I cried. Which is a weird experience to try and explain to your boyfriend when he walks in on you sitting on the lounge in the dark, wrapped in a blanket, with your laptop on your lap, demolishing a block of chocolate.
> 
> It's Remembrance Day today here in Australia so at 11.11 we observe a minutes silence to remember everybody right up until this very point that have lost their lives fighting wars and in armed conflicts.
> 
> Heath Patton is not a real person, but he certainly represent lots of brave men and women who have died.
> 
> I am hopeful that I did a sensitive topic like this justice, that it's real, and that it hurts.
> 
> As someone who has a lot of close ties with people in the military (my boyfriend, my brother and a lot of my friends by proxy) we have lost two people who were in our really close circle of friends, and a few more who I didn't know that well. It's senseless and the feeling that hangs around in the pit of your stomach for days is awful. 
> 
> "Many a man lying out there at Pozières or in the low scrub at Gallipoli, with his poor tired senses barely working through the fever of his brain, has thought in his last moments: “Well – well – it's over; but in Australia they will be proud of this.”"  
> \- Charles Bean, 1918


	22. A Banquet For Ghosts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little filler chapter before things really kick off. This feels a bit clunky and I have tried so many times to get around that, but I can't seem to get it right. So I'm just putting it out there. 
> 
> Jargon Key  
> MRAP: Mine Resistant Ambush Protected - this is a car that is sometimes, despite it's name, an open backed utility.  
> Taps: This is a musical piece sounded at dusk, and at funerals, particularly by the U.S. military. Just find the wiki page for this and listen to it. It always makes me teary.

Felicity rode along with Oliver, Roy and Diggle in the back of the MRAP with Heath’s flag draped coffin in between them. They were riding in a convoy from Murphy back to Chapman for the ramp ceremony to send Heath home. 

The sun was still up, but setting fast, and Felicity had her face turned to the fading light as the car bounced around. The MRAP was an open backed truck so there was a lot of dust kicking around, enabling Felicity to disguise her tears simply as agitated eyes.

“You know,” Oliver cleared his throat and reached across to correct Felicity’s collar that had turned itself up in the wind, “a few weeks ago Heath said that if you don’t fall in beside us, it all comes apart.”

Felicity’s hand automatically reached up to check where Oliver had touched her shirt. She wiped at her face, closing her eyes against the wind and her aggressive fingers.

“It’s the truth, Felicity,” he leaned closer to her, “He valued you that much as a team member, he didn’t think this op would come together without you.”

Felicity nodded, more tears pricking her eyes.

The C-130 was already sitting on the airstrip, close to all the CHUs, its ramp lowered and waiting. Hundreds of personnel were already lining the path to the aircraft. Soldiers coming off 16 or 20 hour shifts had put on their cleanest uniform and come to say goodbye to a fallen comrade that they probably didn’t even know.

Some flood lights were set up to the left of the ramp, along with speakers and a podium. It was dark now, the two hour drive had sapped the sun from the sky. The white light illuminated the path to the plane, but it was just as easily recognised by the perfectly straight lines formed by the waiting crowd.

The truck slowed to a crawl as they approached the gathering, stragglers still joining the end of the lines of men and women stood at ease. As they passed, the soldiers snapped to attention, a staccato of heels snapping together. The truck stopped about a hundred feet from the ramp and pulled a lazy but purposeful three point turn. 

Felicity and Roy stood up and stepped off the back of the truck, while Oliver and Diggle remained behind, slowly pushing the silver casket towards the edge of the tray. Felicity and Roy took the weight and paused as Oliver and Diggle joined them on the tarmac, sliding the coffin that last few inches, taking its entire weight. 

Commander Steele led the small procession and they were rounded out by the chaplain, true to Heath’s never wavering faith in God.

They lowered the casket to the ground twenty or so feet from the ramp, standing at attention, for a few seconds before standing with their feet shoulder width apart, hands behind their backs. Felicity heard the shuffle as hundreds of fellow soldiers followed their lead. The entire base was silent, save for the occasional sniffle, cough and throat clearing. 

The chaplain and Commander Steele walked briskly to the podium.

“Let us start the ramp ceremony,” the chaplain stepped up first. “Almighty and gracious God, we are gathered here today to honour our fallen hero and to seek and secure your divine comfort and wisdom.”

Felicity could feel her knees knocking together, her teeth chattering. She heard Oliver shuffle closer to her and place a strong hand on her shoulder.

“You endowed this man with admirable and coveted qualities,” he continued and Felicity coughed tearily. “For he was a man of unusual courage, strength and fortitude. It was with these god given abilities that he relentlessly pursued our nation’s enemies and the enemies of individual liberties and human decency.”

Roy reached over the casket and grabbed her hand. He gave it a reassuring squeeze and she returned the gesture.

“Tonight we honour his service and grieve our loss. In your mercy, grant us comfort and a measure of understanding, impress it on our hearts and the hearts of Heath’s family and friends,” the chaplain’s gaze settled on the four friends as Diggle reached forward and over to place a hand on Felicity’s other shoulder. “Let them feel the comforting and inspiring words of scripture for neither death nor life, neither the present nor the future, nor anything else in all of creation can separate us from the love of God. Gracious God, it is in faith that a great formation of our proud military commits this soul in to your loving care. Amen.”

A murmured ‘amen’ sounded out in a round.

“Baruch Dayan Ha’emet,” Felicity murmured. _Blessed is the True Judge._

It was Commander Steele’s turn next.

“It is with a heavy heart that I stand before you tonight but with a strong face and clear eyes, we are gathered here as warriors to remember our brother in arms and return him home,” he held eye contact with Felicity, whose vision was blurry due to the tears that were yet to fall. “The priceless cargo of this aircraft is just another example of how we are bound together, answering the call, sharing the risk, fighting side by side. It became much more than that yesterday, and while a tragic moment, it became a symbol of the bond that transcends sex, religion and different childhoods. We honour this warrior here today, the unbreakable bond by those who have stood side by side in combat is a bond that knows no difference between any of those things.”

“It was an honour to have Petty Officer First Class Heath Patton under my command. He was level headed, especially when placed under immense pressure. He was a steady voice to have working in the TOC, there would be bullets flying everywhere, and he would come over the comms with orders delivered in the most calming voice. He once told me that to change the world you couldn’t back down from the sharks. So, dude,” the word sounded foreign out of Walter’s mouth, “Your life embodied the full meaning of that. You were tender to the young. Compassionate with the wounded. And sympathetic to the less fortunate. You were destined for greatness, and you will be greatly missed.”

Commander Steele stepped back from the podium and nodded at the four soldiers surrounding Patton’s coffin.

They gently picked up the box that would do as Heath’s temporary resting place until he got home.

Bagpipes played "Amazing Grace" as they made their way into the cavernous belly of the aircraft, the coffin its only cargo. The four of them knelt down, a formality of the ramp ceremony. It allowed Felicity to lean forward and wrap her arms around the coffin.

“I’m sorry, dude,” she whispered.

As she stood up, she reached into her pocket and pulled out that rock. That literal pain in her ass rock. From one of their first ops. The one Heath had so jovially handed to her upon their return. The smirk on his face flashed in her mind, his guttural laugh rang in her ears. She clutched it tightly for a minute, knowing that act of putting it on his coffin would really mean the end. Eventually, however, she placed it on the very middle and walked down the ramp behind Oliver and in front of Diggle. When they reached the bottom they took three more steps, quick turned and saluted. As the ramp lifted, every soldier had turned forty five degrees to the face the aircraft, saluting.

As the plane’s giant doors finally clanked shut, "Taps" rang out. The sound from the single bugle seemed to chill the air and Felicity felt a shiver run through her. 

The salutes lowered, commands were shouted, and as several hundred soldiers marched to the edge of the tarmac, they were dismissed. They slowly made their way back to their jobs, or their bunks.

In the sixteen hours following Heath’s death, Felicity had heard him referred to as a ‘hero’ over and over again. She wouldn’t deny that. But she didn’t want him to be a hero. She wanted him right there next to her, mussing her ponytail as he joked with her, lamenting the awful coffee on offer, and able to hug his mother upon his return from Afghanistan.

She was angry. She was angry and fed up and unable to make any sense of it. She expected to have felt grateful to still be alive. And unhurt. If it hadn’t have been for Heath’s superhuman shove, she could be seriously injured right now. But she expected other things too.

She expected get to know Heath outside of the military. She expected to have Heath and whoever his new gal pal was over for pizza and beer on Friday nights. She expected to talk shop with him until someone interrupted and demanded the topic of conversation return to something that civilians could understand. She expected her own sons (in the very distant future) trying out all the forbidden things, probably with Heath’s help, one summer in Las Vegas. She envisioned Heath and Oliver (it was definitely Oliver in her mind) becoming close friends as Oliver and Diggle had. 

And now?

She had no idea what was going on or where she was going to end up.

Oliver helped Felicity into the cabin of the MRAP and they were shuttled back to Outpost Murphy, expected to carry on as if nothing had happened.


	23. Charlie Foxtrot

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're about halfway now. So it's only right that things should get operational.
> 
> Enjoy. Let me know if it's too hard to follow, or if there's anything that doesn't make sense.
> 
> Jargon as follows  
> LZ: Landing Zone  
> Charlie Foxtrot: Phonetic alphabet that the military uses to call something as being 'Completely Fucked'  
> PPE: Personal Protective Equipment  
> CSAR: Combat Search and Rescue

It was only 24 hours later that Oliver came crashing into the CHU.

“Sea Charger is a go, right now, let’s roll, grab your packs. Now!” he yelled.

Felicity opened her door and peered out. Everyone else had thrown their doors open, eyebrows drawn together in confusion.

“Now!” he demanded.

Everyone scrambled back into their rooms. The sounds of wardrobes being flung open and outfits changed echoed in the former shipping container. Oliver had held a more informative briefing earlier that day, when news came through that their target had been spotted in the area again. After confirmation from satellite pictures, Oliver had scrambled his SEAL team and Diggle’s green berets. 

They were all sat on the tarmac ten minutes later, waiting for the aircraft that was going to drop them two miles shy of where they would spend the next four days monitoring the movements of their target.

Oliver was briefing the two platoons over the comms system. The noise of the aircraft starting up made it too difficult to hear.

“Now, you know we’re a man down now,” he glanced at Felicity as he spoke, “but that doesn’t change anything in this operation. Cast your mind back to our briefing this morning, Sergeant Diggle and Petty Officer Smoak are in charge of medical, see them or, in a worst case scenario, they’ll see to you, be nice to them, they have the morphine. The target has been spotted in the main village of the Khost province outside of FOB Chapman, we have a LZ, then we’ll walk to the other side of the mountain, set up our operations camp and wait and see.”

The aircraft crew indicated that they were ready.

“Let’s roll out, gentlemen,” Oliver got to his feet.

“Hooah!” came the chorus of replies.

“Hey,” Oliver placed a hand on Felicity’s shoulder, “you good for this?”

“Yep.”

“You don’t have to come,” Oliver explained.

“Oh yeah,” Felicity scoffed, “and negate the entire reason for my being in this sandy shit hole in the first place.”

“But you know-”

“It’s my life, it’s my choice.”

“Okay,” Oliver admitted defeat, “as long as you’ve got your head on straight.”

“Of course, sir, I’m stubborn, you may be stronger, but I’m tougher, I’ll be good,” she smiled.

 

They were flying low, no more than fifty metres above the ground. Felicity could see all the shale on the ground, see little tufts of grass momentarily flattened by the down wash from the two massive rotor heads.

There was no small talk in the back of the aircraft now. They were getting closer to their insertion point and everybody was going over what they could.

“What the fuck?” Felicity caught a glimmer of something in the late afternoon sun out of the opening of the rear door.

Oliver turned his head to follow her eye line, just as a brilliant flash, about five hundred metres away, lit up their field of vision.

“RPG!” he screamed, collecting Felicity in his arms, wrapping his whole body tightly around her. Instinctively, and in a move that she will later thank her lucky stars for, Felicity’s grip on her rifle intensified.

The rocket came straight through the back of the chinook and went all the way through to the cockpit. As it passed by Oliver, he felt the warmth of it, heard the terrorised scream that left Felicity’s mouth. He watched in disbelief as it hit the front control panel and exploded. 

“Oliver!” Diggle shouted.

“Dig!” he replied.

The helicopter was spinning around on itself and Felicity knew the ground must be getting close. She braced herself, said her goodbyes and squeezed her eyes shut.

“Don’t let go, Petty Officer,” Oliver’s lips were pushed right to her ear.

Following the order, she clung tightly to his forearm.

Roy would later explain to her that the cock pit of the helicopter came away, and the body effectively dropped, its fall being broken by the pine trees directly below them. There was still an explosion, still a fire, but Oliver had managed to launch the two of them out of the side door.

They had landed heavily, probably what had knocked her out.

“Felicity,” there were hands cupping her face, gently turning it this way and that. She felt more hands on her body -the same hands? - pressing, pulling.

She clumsily made to push them away.

“Relax,” Diggle’s voice was clearer now. 

Groggily opening her eyes, she gasped, arms flailing as she tried to sit up.

“Fuck,” she whispered.

“You good, Smoak?”

“They shot our bird out of the sky, sir,” she replied, as if it was one of the most normal things in the world.

Roy was propped up against a tree, shaded from the surprisingly scorching afternoon sun. He had a gash on his cheek, a lot of blood on his uniform, but was awake and coherent.

“You good to stand?” Diggle cupped the back of her neck.

She nodded and Diggle grabbed both straps of her PPE and heaved her up.

“I’ve still got my rifle,” she rushed, bending over to pick it up and re-clip it to her vest.

“I think we all do, sailor,” Diggle assured her.

She frantically looked around, the body of the aircraft was still alight with flames and no longer recognisable as a helicopter.

“Oliver?” she yelled.

“Ssh, Felicity, he’s fine,” Diggle indicated his prone form, slumped awkwardly on his side in the dirt a few metres away.

“Fine?” she squeaked.

“He’s got a good bump on his head, but we need to move, those soldiers are scrambling down the mountain faster than I can keep track, we need to get away from the crash site before they get here,” Diggle explained.

“Harper?” Diggle called, and the young man raised his head drowsily in response. “We’re rolling out.”

“Roger, boss,” he grunted and used his rifle to assist him to his feet.

Felicity was gingerly making her way to Oliver, the shale on the incline making it difficult on her slightly jelly-like legs.

“Oliver,” she collapsed to her knees next to him, a hand going to his arm. 

“I’m good, I’m good,” he breathed heavily, rolling onto his back.

As he did, Felicity spotted the satellite phone tucked in to one of his pockets. She pulled it out gently and slid it into one of her own pockets, making a mental note to check its integrity when they were safe under the cover of darkness.

“Come on, let’s move,” Diggle helped Felicity wrangle Oliver to his feet. Roy was leaning heavily against Diggle’s side, which meant that Felicity was responsible for supporting Oliver over the unstable ground.

“Oh god, you’re heavy,” she grunted, “is this really all muscle?”

Oliver cleared his throat, pressing his outside arm tightly to his ribs, but Felicity was sure she saw the corners of his mouth twitch as they began moving away from the burning helicopter.

He hissed a lot, inhaling in short and sharp gasps, released in an interrupted series of snorts, whimpers and grunts. Felicity suspected he’d bruised his ribs, if not broken them.

“You good, sir?” she questioned as they hit a tree line.

“Alive, sailor,” he replied, pulling away from her to trudge along by himself.

“Nobody else survived, sir,” she whispered, skipping to keep up with his impressively long strides.

“I know.”

“Thank you for throwing me out of the helicopter.”

Oliver half turned back to face her, a contemplative look on his face. He smiled and nodded. That was all there was to it. He couldn’t tell her why he’d done it. He didn’t know how to tell her that as he twisted to break the fall, he would have been happy if he'd died for her to live. He was sure that giving her that line would spark memories of the all too raw events of the previous couple of days. So he kept telling himself he didn't know why, either. But evidently, it was appreciated and mutually understood that the four of them were in this together.

They could hear the members of the Taliban shouting and hollering from somewhere behind them and Diggle indicated that they needed to pick up their pace. 

About three hours after the Chinook went down, they were unable to hear anything in the woods behind them. It had been a slow moving hustle in the fast fading light. They rested often, but briefly, the need to keep moving pushing them forward. They were not even sure if the group of men knew there were survivors, their chances of being able to get a CSAR team to their position were extremely good.

They figured they’d try and get some rest while they could, burying themselves under the branches of the low lying trees. The comms between them were still operational and allowed them to discuss what they were going to do in near silent whispers. They presumed they’d be safe until day break. 

“How’s the radio, Smoak?” Diggle’s voice was smooth in her ear.

“Charlie Foxtrot,” she replied, a small smile playing on her face as she fiddled with the plastic and wires that was once the radio in question.

“Completely?”

“Completely, sir, I think it broke my fall when the helo went down.”

“No, sailor, that was me,” came Oliver’s voice.

“Well, I would like to know how it came to be smashed to smithereens with pieces of it lodged in my back,” she jeered.

“How big are the pieces?” Oliver demanded to know, panic in his voice.

“Sir, I’m fine,” she assured him. She didn’t dare tell him that she most definitely favoured her left side as she laid herself out under the tree, that the bruise covered the entire right side of her sacral and lumbar regions.

He grunted his disapproval but there was nothing else from him until the sun rose from behind them.


	24. Bottom of the Trough

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We are well and truly in the gritty part of this story now. 
> 
> Thank you to the new reviewers and everyone who has left kudos. 
> 
> I don't think there's any jargon in here that I need to clear up, but I apologise if there is.

“We are about to get contact,” Oliver’s voice woke Felicity up. 

Blinking the sleep from her eyes, she slowly shouldered her rifle.

“Smoak?” 

“Sir.”

“Abercrombie?”

“Sir.”

“Dig?”

“Yep.”

Felicity focused on trees near and far, listening for movement in front of them. She could hear little things, like rocks sliding, twigs breaking under foot. Through her scope she caught small movements, people sliding behind trees, ducking behind rocks.

A few minutes passed and, with the comms open, she could hear everyone’s steady breathing.

“Sir,” Roy whispered. “I have contact.” 

“Do it,” Oliver encouraged.

A second later, the small ‘pop’ of Roy’s silenced weapon filled the forest. 

“Bag and tag the bastard,” Roy confirmed the kill.

Then all hell broke loose.

There were bullets flying everywhere, a few RPGs fired in quick succession.

All four of them had scrambled for better cover, behind large trees and big rocks. Felicity had a man in her sight and her finger resting on the trigger.

“Please don’t step out, please don’t,” she pleaded with him. He eyed her position, his gun ready, but pointing down. “Please don’t move.”

Her pleas went unanswered as the man stepped out from behind the tree and exposed himself.

“Fuck,” she whispered, setting her cross hairs on him as he shouldered his weapon. 

She fired. 

“Down in one, nice shot, Smoak,” Diggle whispered.

“Thank you, sir,” she replied, indifference audible in her voice.

An RPG landed right near her and she ducked deeper behind the rock. 

“Felicity, MOVE!” Oliver yelled.

She scrambled to her left, falling to her knees behind a rock.

“This sucks,” she stated.

“Copy that,” Oliver replied.

“Left is good,” Harper said, and Felicity realised that he was ten metres to her left, “Left is good.”

She made to move again, under cover fire from Roy, when a burst of machine gun kicked up the leaves from around her. She felt a stabbing pain in her hip and her whole leg went momentarily numb.

“Scrub that,” Roy stated again as Felicity pulled herself back to the cover of the rock.

“Alright, push right,” Oliver suggested. “Right is good, push right, push right, push right.”

Roy was knelt beside her before she even realised. She had a gloved hand cupped to her stomach, but quickly pulled it away when Roy levelled his rifle on the tree stump.

“You okay?” he asked.

“Yeah,” she lied.

“Oh good, I thought you took a bullet then.”

“Jesus, Roy, your hand?” she exclaimed, noticing the vivid red bandage wrapped around his left hand.

“Hey, it’s not my face,” he shrugged.

“Alright, you go, I’ve got your six,” she offered.

“Alright ma’am,” he smiled.

“Roy’s moving,” she spoke authoritatively.

“Roger,” Diggle and Oliver replied in unison.

She shot off a barrage of cover fire as Roy moved, low and fast, towards Diggle. She wasn’t watching him, rather the men up the hill. But she heard his pained grunts, he’d still managed to get hit at least twice.

“Fuck,” Diggle grunted.

“Roy?”

“I’m good, Smoak.”

They leap frogged like that over the next twenty minutes until the three men were all well and truly hidden behind a ledge. 

“Felicity,” Oliver was looking directly at her, but she could only hear him talking through the earpiece. “You need to be ready to move when I say so.”

She nodded.

The three men positioned themselves in difference spots around their cover. They were all squinting through their scopes, aiming up to the trees that hid who knows how many Taliban.

“Alright, Smoak, come half way, find cover.”

As soon as she stepped out, she felt the bullets raining down on her, she could see the flashes out of the corner of her eye. An explosion just in front of her made her pull up short.

“DOWN SMOAK!” Diggle yelled. 

She crouched down behind a very small tree stump

“Fucking fuck,” Roy spat.

Felicity’s face stung and she tentatively moved to touch her cheek but was distracted by another order from Oliver.

“F’licity,” Oliver said it in such a way that she pictured him licking his lips, “now. All the way. Don’t stop for nothing.” 

She ran. So fast. Covering the thirty or so metres to the boys in what she was pretty sure was a personal best. The men in the hills had a variety of weapons, she could hear the difference as the bullets whizzed by her. She counted at least five, not including the RPG. Just as she thought that, there was another explosion.

“Fuck,” she threw herself towards the boys.

They all withdrew their weapons and crouched down, out of breath.

Diggle hauled a winded Felicity into a sitting position.

“You’re good,” he assured her, “sit back, back.”

“You didn’t say nothing about this when you talked me into signing up,” Roy jeered at Oliver. “Nothing, I’ve got five fucking bullet wounds, lost three fucking fingers on my hand, you never said nothing about this.”

“Shut the fuck up!” Oliver hissed, then lowered his voice, “Felicity? You good?”

Felicity was panting too hard to respond, trying not to vomit from the exertion, all she could manage was a nod and an even heavier pant as she tried to swallow.

“They were so fucking fast,” Roy rushed, “how’d they even keep up with us, they’re faster than we are!”

“They’re not fucking faster than us,” Felicity insisted.

“You never said nothing about shit going down like this,” Roy was still raving.

“Shut him the fuck up,” Diggle’s exasperated request came fast and breathless.

“Ssh,” Oliver put a hand over Roy’s mouth, “Ssh. Ssh.”

Roy was sucking in deep breaths as Oliver moved his hand away and Felicity was worried he was about to go in to shock. Oliver clued in to the nuclear meltdown that was about to occur and ‘ssh’-ed Roy once more. It was so quiet that Felicity saw it, rather than heard it. Oliver pushed his forehead to the side of Roy’s head. Both men closed their eyes for a moment and Felicity forced herself to look away from the show of tenderness, swallowing hard.

 

"Roy, tell me you got something?" Oliver turned to his future brother in law, who was fiddling with the old back up radio. He looked set to haul it over the side of the cliff.

"I ain't got fuckin' shit," Roy spat.

"Felicity?" 

"I've got less fucking shit than Roy does," she replied, humourlessly, adjusting the antenna on the sat phone, tucking it into her vest and returning to the firing position, gun pointed up the hill.

"Fucking comms," Oliver huffed.

Diggle and Felicity were watching their flanks and, at close to the same time, they both said Oliver's name with a certain degree of urgency.

The force of men was moving down the mountain side too fast to pick them off.

They were about to be surrounded. 

"Sir," Felicity demanded an order.

"Fall back," Oliver glanced down the hill. What he really meant was "fall off", the sheer drop behind them meant they couldn't get footing or handholds on the way down.

"This'll be fun," Roy scoffed, re packing the radio and putting the bag on his back.

"Roy and Felicity, move first, Dig and I will follow," Oliver had moved next to Felicity to take her spot.

"Moving!" Both Petty Officers yelled, slightly disdainfully.

Roy caught Felicity's eye just a second before they both jumped off the cliff under cover fire from Diggle and Oliver. He nodded reassuringly, but looked terrified as he grabbed her hand.

Felicity wasn't sure how long or far they fell. She lost her grip on Roy as they tumbled either side of a tree, her tiny hand being torn from what she thought was his unbreakable grip. What she was sure of though was when they finally came to a stop, Roy was nowhere to be seen.

"Abercrombie?" She called, her vision slightly fuzzy. 

There was no answer. The distant sounds of AK-47s and RPGs was all she could hear.

"Felicity?" She heard Oliver yell. 

"Sir!" She replied.

"Roy?"

Felicity strained her ears. She heard a rustle and a cough.

"I have him, sir!" 

Felicity scooted along the ground towards Roy, who was lying face down in a pool of blood that was coming from a shocking wound to the side of his head. 

"Roy," she hissed, pulling an emergency bandage from her pocket. He still had a firm grip on his rifle and she ordered him to take it easy as she gently rolled him over. 

"C'mon Roy, we're gonna be all right."

"Ma'am," he squinted up at her.

"Is this a bullet wound?" She cupped the back of his skull, feeling around in the gash with a gloved finger.

"I-I don't think so," he shook his head, hindering Felicity as she tried to dress it.

"Alright, suck it up, Roy, we have to cover Oliver and Dig," she secured the clip and patted his chest.

"Yes ma'am," he replied, clumsily crawling to a decent vantage point. 

"We've got your six!" Felicity yelled up the cliff.

"Moving!" Diggle and Oliver yelled in unison. Then they were tumbling down towards were Felicity and Roy were offering cover by way of suppressive fire. 

Without taking her eyes off the targets, Felicity was aware of her two senior officers bouncing off trees and piles of rocks. Diggle managed to straighten up his trajectory and dive over the fallen log that Roy and Felicity were tucked behind. He hit the ground hard enough to force the air from his lungs, covered in new bruises and cuts, but relatively unharmed.

Oliver was not as lucky. He came to a halt in a crumpled heap a few metres from Felicity. He was out in the open and semi-conscious. 

"Oliver!" She yelled but the only response she received was a small twitch of his fingers.

"You got him?" Roy shouted.

She crouched down behind the log to reload a magazine. 

Diggle was still gasping for breath and struggling to his knees but was capable of providing cover fire.

"Smoak?" Roy yelled, unable to see the tiny blonde preparing to make a break for Oliver.

"She's moving, Roy, Smoak is moving!" Diggle shouted.

The two men covering her rescue attempt would sing her heroics for as long as they lived, but Felicity would shut them down. There were no heroics in her run towards Oliver. She had dropped her rifle, climbed over the log and run across open ground to get to him. All the while she was crying like a baby.

There was no time to check if he was even alive, she just grabbed the loop in the back of his vest (the one designed for the very specific purpose of dragging injured comrades) and hauled him back to the log.

She pushed him flush up against it, picked up her rifle and returned fire again. 

"Diggle?" She questioned.

"We're good, we're good!" He replied.

"How's Oliver?" Roy called from beyond Diggle.

Felicity glanced down at Oliver whose glassy eyes were open, rolling around erratically.

"Alive, probably concussed," she replied.

"I'm gonna check on him," Diggle explained, silently expressing his need for cover.

"Sir!" Both petty officers barked their acknowledgment. 

They both had a heavy impact, taking out the enemy on their flank, fanning to the middle and back again. 

Diggle was lent over Oliver, repeating his name, asking him questions.

"I'm good, I'm good," Felicity eventually heard Oliver assure Diggle. 

"Oliver," The tone in his voice was laced with warning, pleading with Oliver.

"Diggle, I'm fine," Oliver replied fiercely, his husky voice angry and full of conviction. 

"INCOMING!" Roy's guttural cry broke Felicity's concentration. Her attention now flicked to the smoky white trail that followed the RPG down the mountain side.


	25. Down in the Valley

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone, all readers new and old, and everyone who has taken the time to leave a comment!
> 
> Jargon Key  
> CAS: Close Air Support - air action by fixed or rotary-winged aircraft against hostile targets that are close to friendly ground or naval forces  
> QRF: Quick Reaction Force - is a military unit, generally platoon-sized in the United States Military combat arms, that is capable of rapid response to developing situations  
> IFAK: Individual First Aid Kit - a first aid kit carried by each soldier

_"INCOMING!" Roy's guttural cry broke Felicity's concentration. Her attention now flicked to the smoky white trail that followed the RPG down the mountain side._

* * *

All four of them ducked in unison, squeezing their eyes shut and covering their heads.

The grenade landed not far from Felicity, splintering the end of the log. Felicity felt a thousand little pricks on her face, neck and her bare wrists as splinters flew everywhere.

"FELICITY!?" She heard Oliver yell though the dust. It was the most primeval scream she'd ever heard, full of terror, panicked.

"I'm good," she tried to call back, but was only successful at inhaling the pulverised shale.

"Felicity!!" Oliver screamed again.

There was suddenly rough hands on her person and she pushed them away, still coughing. There was cool water on her face and she licked at the drops, trying to wet her dusty, dry tongue.

"Felicity," he kept repeating her name, irrationally, his voice softening, pleading. A hand on her cheek made her open her eyes.

"I'm fine," she assured him, reaching up to grab his wrist.

"CONTACT! Three o'clock!" Roy yelled.

Oliver swung his rifle upward, knocking it against his shoulder, firing with one hand, the other hand pinning Felicity out of the way.

"Felicity, take the middle with Diggle," Oliver ordered.

"Sir," she replied, crawling on her elbows to a suitable position. 

"Wait for my go," Diggle ordered. Felicity hunkered down, made sure she had enough ammo butted in her rifle and primed it, ready for Diggle's say so.

Felicity heard the lull in gunfire before Diggle gave the order so when he yelled "now, now, now!" she was already steadying herself on the log, her elbows firmly planted before she got off two shots, right in between the eyes of a man wielding an RPG.

"What do you want to do?" Diggle asked, and it wasn't until he nudged her with his boot that Felicity realised he was talking to her.

"Me, sir?" She stalled so she could concentrate on putting a bead on a man running down the mountain.

"Yes," he insisted.

"I want to go home, shave my legs, get in to bed, eat dim sum, and watch cartoons," she replied.

"Hooah," Roy agreed.

"You sir?"

"I want to go home, kiss my wife and see her give birth to my beautiful baby girl," Diggle spoke through a lump in his throat. 

"It'll happen, John," Felicity assured him. "But we need to do something now, or we will fucking die up here."

"Yep," he looked her dead in the eyes. 

 

It was quiet for a few hours. The four of them rarely spoke. Felicity thought that maybe they’d managed to take them all. In the end, it was wishful thinking, another grenade hit the ground near their feet.

“Motherfuckers,” Diggle condemned. 

Oliver grunted uncomfortably and Felicity turned her attention to him. Shards of shale were lodged in his thigh and chest. 

“Oh no,” she gasped.

“It’s not deep, it’s not deep,” Diggle was clambering over Roy and her to get to Oliver.

The piece in his chest came out with little force from Diggle. It hadn’t gone very deep, the tactical vest Oliver was wearing had halted its flight. The one in his leg, on the other hand, was deep. It was in there good and proper.

“Dig?” Felicity inquired.

“It’s a cluster fuck, Smoak.”

Felicity reefed the sat phone from one of her pockets and tore at the Velcro on the sleeve of Oliver’s uniform. Grabbing his wrist, she pushed his sleeve up not at all kindly to reveal the list of numbers strapped to his arm.

She punched in the first number on the list, having to correct the entry a couple of times. Her hands were shaking so hard.

There was no dial tone.

“FUCK!” she shrieked. 

“Smoak?”

“There’s no satellite!” she cried. “It beeped before, when I ran to get Oliver, I heard it, there’s signal over there!”

“Felicity, no,” Diggle shook his head.

“I have to, it could be our only chance,” she insisted.

Diggle gently climbed over her moving back to Roy, who had closed his eyes and slackened his grip on his rifle.

“I can’t cover you in that direction without these two,” Diggle pointed out.

“It’s fine,” she thrust her chin forward defiantly. 

“Felicity,” Diggle’s voice was laced with warning.

“I’m going,” she said finally, straightening Oliver up, ensuring he was safe behind the cover of the log before she dashed to where he had fallen earlier.

She heard the phone beep twice, indicating it had picked up two satellites. She pressed herself up against a willowy tree and prayed it was big enough to cover her. 

Finally, she put the phone to her ear. She was feeling a lot of everything in that moment and all of a sudden her whole body was shaking. Her lip trembled as she heard the dial tone.

“Outpost Murphy, this is Sergeant Holloway,” the connection was crappy, but there was one and Felicity wanted to scream and cry with overwhelming happiness.

“This is Petty Officer Felicity Smoak,” she said slowly, so that she would be understood. “I’m with Lieutenant Oliver Queen, Sergeant John Diggle and Petty Officer Roy Harper. We are the only survivors of the Turbine 42 crash. We need immediate air support.”

She was about to continue when a small spray of blood burst from her leg, followed immediately by a burning pain. A strangled yelp left her mouth before she could stop it.

“Smoak?”

“We need help,” she sobbed, pushing her head up against the trunk of the tree, trying to distract herself from the pain.

“Where are you?”

“We’re jacked up three miles south of the wreckage on a big fucking rock, but we’re going to have to move, probably continuing south east.”

“Roger that.”

“We need immediate CAS,” she glanced back at Oliver who nodded encouragement, glassy eyed and barely conscious.

“Roger, Petty Officer, I need your ten digit grid.”

“Please hurry sir,” she sniffled, watching Diggle working on Roy.

“Petty Officer,” Holloway was almost pleading with her now, but Oliver was fading fast, leaning more and more to the right, towards her, away from the cover of the fallen tree. 

“Thank you,” she added, almost as an afterthought, as she tucked the phone back in her pocket.

She felt another bullet graze her arm.

“Oh, god,” she moaned, clutching at the new wound. 

“Felicity,” Oliver whispered, his eyes closing.

She raced back to him.

“Ssh, you’re all good, sir,” she assured him, grabbing the strap of his vest and heaving him upright as she pressed herself against him, trying to keep them both out of the firing line.

She shouldered her rifle and set herself up on the rock. Peering through the scope she spied at least three men clambering down the cliff side.

“You’re gonna have to do it, Smoak,” Diggle huffed.

“A-ffirm,” she replied.

She felt something against her leg and she looked down. Oliver had clumsily thrown his hand up, a finger getting caught in the pocket.

“Hey,” Oliver whispered, “You don’t have to do this.”

“Yes,” she replied, nodding once with conviction, “I do.”

She stretched her neck and resettled on the rock.

It took two to take down the first man, one to the head for the second and one to the chest for the third. They didn’t make any noise as they fell, no shouts, no yells, no grunts. They just fell.  
Felicity did a quick scan of the hillside and, not being able to see any movement, spun back around and sat down in between Diggle and Oliver.

“John,” she started, “we gotta move.”

“Yep,” was all he replied, slapping Roy’s cheek lightly to get a rise out of him. 

“Which way?” she asked.

“Let’s see you make a fucking tactical decision, Smoak,” he sniped.

“Hey!” she growled. “This is the fucking navy and right now you’re the fucking boss, so you make the fucking call… sir.”

Her request was delivered with force, the formality on the end more so. 

Diggle maintained eye contact with her, his gaze unsettling. She was almost sure she was about to get torn a new one. 

“Peel left,” he finally said.

“Peel left,” she repeated, grabbing Oliver’s strap, ready to drag him.

“Peel left,” Roy offered weakly.

 

“Is that a village?” Felicity huffed and puffed her way through the trees.

“Rest here,” Diggle ordered, pushing Roy under a tree. 

Roy groaned in agony and let a few expletives roll off his tongue.

Felicity let go of Oliver’s strap and rolled her shoulder around. It creaked in appreciation of the small respite. Diggle dragged Oliver the last few metres to some cover and, after checking his wounds, rearranged some branches over him.

“I’m gonna do ten minutes of recon, I’ll be back,” Diggle said.

Felicity was peering through her scope, trying to see if there was any movement in the small square of buildings just under two miles away.

“Do you want some company?”

“Negative.”

Felicity squatted down between two bushes and covered Diggle’s descent towards the village. She absently thought that for such a big man he moved with speed and elegance. 

His absence felt like forever and, after seeing Diggle make it back to tree line, Felicity moved between the three positions they had taken up.

“How you doin’ Roy?” she peered through the needles on the tree.

“They shot me,” he shrugged.

“Living in the past, Harper,” she smiled.

“You good, ma’am?” he asked.

“All good,” she assured him and frog walked over to Oliver.

“Sir?”

“F’lic’ty, are you okay?”

She nodded as he opened his eyes.

“You dragged me here?”

The lump in her throat made it impossible to reply, so she was forced to bob her head again.

“Are they coming?” he asked, his chin dropping to his chest.

“Who?”

No reply.

“Who?” she shook Oliver.

“QRF.”

“Yes.”

Oliver nodded and reached for her arm. He squeezed her forearm gently, his mouth opening and closing, as if he was trying to say something.

Felicity placed a hand on his and nodded in reply to whatever it was he thought he’d spoken.

“It’s okay, sir, we’re gonna hunker down in that village until rescue comes. You just have to promise me, you can’t die, okay, if you die, I’m gonna be really fucking pissed.”

He laughed a little.

“Wilco,” he smiled.

“Please don’t die, Oliver, please, I need you, we need you.”

Oliver steeled himself, taking a deep breath, his eyebrows creasing with concentration.

“I have every faith in your ability to continue on this operation,” he said.

“Continue on with you, Oliver.”

“I’m not good, Felicity,” he reasoned.

“But neither is Roy, and we’re going to get him home.”

“But, if it becomes too much-”

Felicity pushed her lips against Oliver’s. “Shut up,” she breathed into his mouth. 

“I don’t want to die, Felicity, I probably deserve to, but I don’t want to,” he shook his head.

“Then you won’t, we’re going to patch you and Roy up, and then we’re bumping back to the States, two months earlier than we thought, so there’s a plus.”

“You and I…” he whispered, his eyes closing.

“We’ll get out of here,” she cupped his face and shook him softly, trying to get her point across.

Felicity heard Diggle approaching and turned to gauge a reaction.

His lips were pursed and he was limping badly.

“Are you okay, sir?” Felicity asked.

He nodded but used the slope of the hill to assist him sitting down.

“The village looks empty. There’s a well, but whether there is any water in it… We’re pretty open moving across that field towards it.”

“We can’t stay here,” Oliver offered.

“This is a bad idea,” Felicity shook her head, “this is a fucking problem.”

Diggle nodded as he swallowed hard, turning his head towards Roy.

“Harper?”

“Sir.”

“Can you fight?”

“Sir.”

“Walk?”

“Sir.”

“Run?”

“Yes, sir.”

“We’ll wait until nightfall, then we’ll move.”

Diggle checked everyone’s injuries again. He moved from Roy, to Oliver and eventually Felicity.

“Do you still have your IFAK?” she asked, referring to the first aid kit, as he squatted in front of her, “I lost mine somewhere along the way.”

“Yep, but there’s no use in treating these guys until we have some proper cover, and some water,” he explained.

“Understood.”

“Let me look at you,” he insisted.

“I’m good, sir,” she replied.

“I know, but let me see, I know you’ve got one in the guts, show me,” Diggle argued.

Felicity grunted as she shifted to reveal the bullet wound in her hip. It was still oozing deep, dark, arterial blood. 

“Fuck,” Diggle sighed and made the mistake of meeting Felicity’s stare. He was two seconds too late when it came to hiding the panic. Felicity felt her expression change instantly to match his.

“Dig,” she started.

“You pack it with some fucking dirt, tight, do you hear me? Keep it packed tight,” he demanded.

Felicity reached to her left and roughed up the ground. Grabbing a handful of dirt, she hitched up all her layers of clothing and pushed the dirt into the deep red hole in her torso. 

“I fucking love Afghanistan,” she spat through gritted teeth.


	26. This Night Here (Something Like Hope)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry for the unusually long time between updates. Life got totally in the way. A friend of mine got married this morning and it was so beautiful and so much fun.
> 
> But, that's a completely different (and MUCH happier) story.
> 
> Onwards we go!

“Tell me about your family, Smoak,” Oliver requested wearily as the setting sun threatened to disappear below the horizon. It lit their potential cover brilliantly and Felicity’s heart ached at the thought that safety was only a few maniacal minutes run away.

“Oh, sir, that is a can of worms you do not want to open,” she politely replied.

Felicity’s peculiar group of people that she considered family had not even crossed her mind since the helicopter was torn from the sky. She wondered if the men had thought of their family. Of course they had. They were all in committed relationships in one form or another. She had no boyfriend at home, she had no time for a boyfriend at home. She never spoke to her father, rarely spoke to her mother and her sister was a can of worms inside a can of worms.

“Try me,” he said.

“Maybe later, sir,” she chided gently, “you could tell me about your family?”

“My mum is incredible, my dad, formidable and my sister,” he took in a deep breath, “she’s-”

“Irreplaceable,” Roy’s voice was quiet.

It was amazing that with a few hours of rest, Roy and Oliver were coherent again. The exertion of moving sapped their energy instantly. Felicity was sure that Diggle was putting on a brave face, she’d counted four bullet wounds and a myriad of shrapnel wounds as she’d watched him through her scope earlier. She’d been keeping tally on everyone. Oliver had taken five bullets, two were serious. Roy was practically ribbons, seven or eight, all relatively close to important organs. She had three, her arm, her thigh and the one in her lower stomach. Everyone had numerous cuts and bruises from bashing through the trees, from RPG explosions, and from the original crash.

“We’re close to go time,” Diggle grunted, as the orange light from the sun was finally sucked behind the mountains.

Diggle helped Roy to his feet and fatherly adjusted his scarf then pulled his beanie over the bandage around his head.

“You good, sailor?”

“Yes, sir,” Roy’s voice only wavered slightly.

“Smoak?” Diggle turned his attention to the tiny blonde who was struggling to get her lieutenant to his feet. She slung his arm over her shoulder and blew a wayward chunk of hair off her face.

“Good to go.”

“It’s less than two miles, can you make it?” Diggle asked Oliver.

“Hooah,” Oliver replied, a small smile revealing his brilliant white teeth in the blue moon light. “We get to the village, call for CSAR and get the fuck outta dodge. We leave nobody behind, we defend our team. Rules of engagement are out the fucking window, kill anybody who looks like a threat. We’re getting out of here, we’re going home.”

And they were off. 

Diggle and Roy, thanks to Diggle's strength and on account of Roy being small, broke away from them almost instantly. 

Felicity struggled under Oliver's near dead weight, his pained grunts audible over the comms above all else.

"How you doin' Felicity?" Diggle's heavy breathing interrupted Oliver's constant grunts.

"Struggling, sir," she replied, adjusting Oliver's arm over her shoulder.

"Keep going, Smoak," he insisted.

"Yep," she replied. What else was she supposed to do? 

"Just leave me here, Felicity," Oliver wheezed. 

"Sir, with all due respect, fuck off," she replied.

"I'll never forgive myself if you don't make it because of me." He tried to pull his arm from around her shoulder but she tightened her grip on his wrist.

"Stop being dramatic."

"Help Diggle get Roy home to my sister, she's pregnant."

"Sir, there is no fucking way I'm leaving you here, there is no fucking way that I'm going to tell your sister that I was the one who left you in a paddock to be executed by the Taliban, they’ll shoot you in the face or hack your head off, you can fuck right off if you think that's going to be a thing that I’ll allow to happen," she rambled vehemently through her tears, "Thea's going to need her brother through her pregnancy too."

“Smoak.”

“Leave no man behind, you said so yourself. We’re getting out of here. We’re going home,” she chanted.

Oliver tripped and they both ended up in the dirt of the dry paddock. 

"Sir, please," she begged, trying to haul him upright again. 

"Fuck," Oliver spat, clutching at his leg as a Felicity rolled him over. 

"Come on, Oliver, let's keep going, suck it the fuck up, sir," she got to her feet and used the straps of his vest to pull him up.

They had traveled no more than three metres when an RPG landed to their left. They were blown sideways, landing heavily. 

"Felicity?" Diggle's voice was distant, the ring in her ears the only really legible noise.

She coughed, "we're okay."

She crawled to Oliver and it was clear that the force of the blast had knocked him unconscious.

"Dig, Oliver's out cold, I can't, I don't know, Dig, I don't think I can move him," she was concentrating on pulling an emergency bandage from one pocket and fixing it to the wound at the base of Oliver's skull. He'd cracked it open as his head bounced off a particularly pointy rock. She was out of the emergency bandages now, having used one of Roy earlier, and losing one during their fall down the cliff.

Diggle was running towards her when she glanced up, having abandoned Roy behind the only piece of legitimate cover twenty feet ahead of where Felicity and Oliver were stationary in a very open environment. 

"I'll take Oliver," Diggle hauled the Lieutenant up and over his shoulder as if he weighed nothing, "Roy is conscious and doesn't weigh as much. Let's go."

Felicity, now unburdened, was able to reach Roy in seconds. 

"Hey Abercrombie," she smiled, "ready?"

"Ma'am," he nodded, lifting his arms so she could help him up. 

She felt the sleeve of her jacket soak with blood the instant she gripped his side.

"Fuck, Roy, how many bullets have you taken, buddy?" her voice was hoarse.

"Oh, ma'am," his head lolled forward and for a heart stopping split second Felicity thought he'd died right then and there, "I've lost count, nine or ten."

"Fuck me."

"I'm dying, Felicity," his bottom lip trembled.

"Uh uh," she shook her head, "the hell you are."

"Thea, tell Thea-"

"Nope, you shut your mouth, Petty Officer Harper," Felicity spat, "you shut it good until you can tell Thea yourself."

"And help her with the baby."

"Nope, YOU'RE going to help her with the baby, you hear me, Petty Officer?" she demanded.

"Yes, ma'am," he nodded.

"Congratulations, by the way," Felicity added distractedly, placing a kiss on his cheek.

"Thank you, ma'am."

"Stop calling me ma'am, Roy, you're making me feel old."

"I'm woozy, ma'am," Roy slurred.

Felicity glanced down at where his head was rested on her shoulder. His eyes were rolling around in his head and he was having more and more trouble staying on his feet.

"It's because your blood pressure is low and you're going into shock, just hold on, Roy," she begged, "just five minutes, probably less, we'll be in a defendable position and Dig and I will fix you up."

They continued for a couple of minutes until, all of a sudden, Roy was a complete dead weight against her side. 

"Roy?" She jostled him a little.

"What's going on, Felicity?" Diggle's voice came over the comms.

Felicity stopped and turned around, making eye contact with him, a hundred feet behind. "I think- I think, shit, Dig, I," she spluttered, coughing and trying not to vomit.

"We're a few hundred yards from the house, come on, keep moving, we can't leave him here," Diggle encouraged her.

"I know, sir," she turned in the direction they were headed. 

Felicity had to put Roy on the ground and resort to dragging him.

"I'm sorry," she kept repeating, hoping he could hear her.

They had managed to get out of range of the men hunting them for a little while so, while they could still hear the machine guns and RPG explosions, it was no longer happening around them. 

Diggle, with Oliver still thrown over his shoulder, caught up quickly. 

"It's the first house, the flaky painted orange one, with the brown retaining wall out the front, that's the best positioned one," he pointed to the closest one and relief swelled in Felicity's heart, "it's best for QRF and evac options."

"If we can get through to base again," Felicity bemoaned.

"Quick hustle, Smoak," Diggle picked up the pace to a light job. In hindsight, this probably saved Oliver's life, the bouncing movement probably forced his breathing, making him inhale and exhale.

Felicity had never been so relieved to see an abandoned Afghan mud hut. The cinder block wall afforded them enough cover to collect themselves. Diggle tenderly propped Oliver up against the wall and Felicity positioned Roy in the corner, the enveloping walls keeping him upright. 

Diggle and Felicity reloaded their weapons and used the wall as cover.

They spent the next few minutes drawing beads on the few remaining men that they could see.

“Fuck, Dig, there’s another RPG up there somewhere!” Felicity yelled as an explosion blew a hole in the wall of the house to their left.

Another one pummelled into the dirt between the houses. 

“Whoever it is, his aim is getting better,” Diggle was using the scope on his rifle to try and find the culprit.

“I have him,” Felicity whispered, “I can’t get a sho- SHIT!”


	27. Sound of the Season Ending

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I thought, in lieu of updates over the weekend, I'd give you another one before I go to work today.
> 
> This chapter is long, and I was going to break it down into two (or three), but thought it'd be easier to sit through most of the whumping in one go.
> 
> Thank you to everyone who has commented and left kudos, and everyone following along silently. It's nice to know that this is getting read!
> 
> I don't think there's much jargon in this chapter that hasn't already been covered or isn't explained in the story itself.

The explosion a metre or so away from the front door had Felicity using all her remaining effort to haul Oliver through the door. In the process of dragging the gargantuan man away from the danger she felt her shoulder dislodge, an audible ‘pop’ making her stomach turn.

“Ah, fuck!” she cried automatically dropping Oliver. Diggle, in one swift movement, managed to close the door and pull Oliver along the floor.

She cursed continually and under her breath for a good minute, clutching her injured arm to her side. She was bent over, willing the bright lights behind her eyes to disappear. On the peripheral of the intense pain she was feeling, she could hear Diggle calling her away from the door, towards the back of the house. She stumbled in the direction of his voice until she crashed bodily into him. His arms went around her and he lowered her to the ground, propped up against the wall.

The only noises she could hear were the exhausted pants of her team mates and the occasional ‘chink’ of a bullet on the outside of the house.

“We’ve picked most of them off,” Diggle was saying to her, “you did good, Smoak.”

“Fuck,” was all she could manage, the white hot pain in her shoulder reaching an almost unbearable level. 

Diggle crossed the floor and set his rifle on the window sill. He fired off three or four shots and seemed satisfied that they had met their intended targets.

“Dig,” Oliver shouted, side eyeing Felicity who had her eyes shut tight and was breathing painfully, “come and help her!”

Diggle was in front of her in an instant, taking her limp wrist in one hand and poking and prodding her deformed shoulder. 

“Smoak?” 

“Mmm?” Felicity pursed her lips together.

“It’s not just a dislocation,” his face was serious, “you’ve got a significant piece of shrapnel wedged in there.”

“Are you fucking kidding me?” she sighed at the inconvenience of it, laughing a little.

Using her frustration as a distraction, Diggle yanked her arm at the elbow, pulling it forward and down, at the same time twisting the metal from her skin. The screech that left Felicity’s mouth was almost inhuman and she pressed her forehead to Diggle’s shoulder, grabbing blindly at his arm with her good hand.

“You’re okay,” Diggle’s gloved thumbs brushed away the tears on her face.

“This is a soup sandwich, sir,” she sniffed.

“You were brave in volunteering for this op,” Diggle whispered.

“Sir, you were there,” Felicity replied, “I didn’t volunteer, I was voluntold.”

Diggle snorted a laugh through his nose and patted her good shoulder gently.

Felicity now had the presence of mind to look around at the small room they found themselves in.

There were two cot type beds, still with sheets and blankets on them, tucked away in one corner. There was a table and three chairs, some old pots and pans with mugs and glasses, there was even some laundry still hanging from a makeshift indoor clothesline.

Roy was still where Diggle had left him, lying on his side next to Oliver. Oliver had placed a hand on his cheek, his other hand shaking him, searching his body. His lips were moving, although not much was audible. Felicity did make out the repetitive nature of "Roy, no, no." 

They needed to start treating him for injuries. Now.

“How far away is the well?” she asked Diggle.

“Out that door,” he pointed to the way from which they came, “left, then left again, it’s literally just out that window.”

“I can fit through that window,” she suggested, “It’ll save coming under fire again.”

Diggle looked between her and the window, weighing the options up.

“Alright,” he nodded.

They smashed the window with their fists wrapped in towels. Clearing the frame of the jagged glass, Felicity went through feet first. She turned back and grabbed the pots that Diggle passed through to her.

“You’ve got your side arm?” Diggle asked.

“Yep,” she instinctively reached for it. 

“Alright, you listen for anything that doesn’t sit right with you,” he ordered.

“Yes, sir,” Felicity nodded.

The trip to the well occurred without fanfare and Felicity was climbing back through the window in less than ten minutes. 

Diggle had opened his first aid kit and divided it into two piles, she assumed one for Roy and one for Oliver. She hoped that she had reserved some things for himself. She set about tearing a clean sheet into pieces.

They began by trying to patch Roy up first. They moved him off the floor and onto one of the cots. Felicity gently cut his clothes off, leaving him in his underwear. She gasped when she stepped back and saw the extent of his injuries.

There was surprisingly little blood, which left an ominous feeling in the pit of Felicity’s stomach. Diggle was patching the wounds on his chest with appropriate dressings as she wrapped the three stumps on his hand tight. A bullet wound in his thigh required a dressing and a bandage, the one on his arm needed a clean. His shoulder was a through and through and she patched up the front before getting Diggle to patch the back while she held him on his side.

“Sir,” Roy groaned as they laid him back down.

“Quiet, Petty Officer,” Diggle ordered.

Roy looked a little shocked at Diggle’s command, but complied. His eyes were closing and opening so Felicity ran her finger down the bridge of his nose a few times until he was still and quiet.

“You’re going to be okay, Roy,” she whispered.

“Felicity,” Diggle inquired softly, “I need your help with Oliver.”

She gingerly pushed herself up and joined Diggle.

“I can’t go through this again,” Oliver was whispering to Diggle.

“It won’t be the same, Oliver,” Diggle was reasoning with him, “I promise.”

“But Roy,” Oliver started, but his breath hitched as Felicity approached.

“Hey,” she tried to smile as she crouched down. “This is not a repeat of five years ago, we’re squared away for the time being, you’re safe, Roy is going to be fine.”

“This is pay back,” his shoulders were shaking now, “pay back for everything I’ve done so far.”

“Sir,” Felicity pleaded.

“Don’t fucking sir me now, Felicity,” he spat, but his words slurred.

“Sorry.”

“Don’t be fucking sorry,” he sighed.

“What do you fucking want from me?” Felicity yelled as she threw her arms in the air.

Oliver stared at her, stunned in to silence.

“Please, enlighten me, sir!” she demanded.

“I just want you to be okay,” he replied quietly.

“Fuck,” she muttered under her breath, scooting closer to him.

-

As Felicity moved closer, Oliver’s hand went to her thigh.

“I want to get this shrapnel out before we move him anymore,” Diggle whispered in Felicity’s ear, but not quiet enough so he couldn’t hear. 

Diggle made quick work of cutting Oliver’s trousers up to the shrapnel impact, tearing the last few centimetres with his hands to avoid knocking the shrapnel with the scissors.

Oliver felt like he was overheating, although he was sure it was just the panic setting in, and made to shrug out of his jacket. Felicity tried to help but his undershirt stuck to the wounds in his chest and back and, as she peeled the jacket away, he couldn’t help but grunt.

He swayed towards her, unable to control himself anymore. Exhaustion was setting in, probably assisted by shock and blood loss.

“Sorry, I’m sorry,” he whispered as he rested against her.

“Don’t be, it’s okay,” she replied.

“You’re gonna want to bite down on something, Oliver,” Diggle suggested, “And Felicity, you’re gonna want to hold on to him.”

“O-okay,” Felicity stammered. 

“There’s two pieces of shrapnel, I’ll get the smaller one first.”

“No, wait!” Oliver shouted, twisting away from Diggle.

“Oliver, this really can’t wait,” Diggle insisted.

“Well, it has to, just for a minute,” he argued.

Diggle gestured for him to continue.

“You keep an eye on that sat phone, the minute you have signal, make the call, look after Roy, tell Thea that I love her,” Oliver listed, pressing his index finger to fingers on his other hand.

“You’re not going to die,” Diggle shook his head.

“I’m not saying I will, but those are your orders, you do what you have to do to get us home, I know that shrapnel wound is bad,” Oliver grimaced as he moved.

“Let’s get it out, see how bad it is,” Diggle compromised.

“I’m proud of you, both of you,” Oliver made eye contact with Diggle, then Felicity.

“Ready?” Diggle asked.

Oliver nodded, put a chunk of his jacket in his mouth and bit down. He madly grabbed for Felicity’s hand and squeezed tightly. 

“Alright,” was all John said to indicate that he was starting.

Oliver was aware of the uncomfortable hisses that left his throat, as well as the tears in his eyes that formed and quickly fell. He kept his eyes locked on Felicity’s. She was saying something, but he couldn’t hear anything. 

Diggle’s unrelenting pressure ceased and Oliver let his jacket fall out of his mouth. 

His bottom lip was quivering and, as much as he tried to stop, he was whimpering.

“You’re good, you’re good,” Felicity was repeating.

“Do you need a minute?” Diggle asked.

“No,” Oliver shook his head and this time, put his dog tag in his mouth, “Good to go.”

The strangled grunts started almost as soon as Diggle started poking around. He could feel his face turning red, and his vision started to go splotchy. He lost his hearing again, and Felicity’s face blurred.

-

“Oliver, you are okay, I’m right here, I’m right here,” she was trying to reassure him.

Oliver was fighting against Felicity as John dug deeper. She ended up having to use all her effort to push him against the wall. Even then, he tried to break free of her grip. He was screaming blue murder, the noises coming from within him were terrifying.

“Dig?” panic was evident in her voice.

“Almost,” came his distracted reply, then “Done.”

Oliver collapsed against Felicity, his dog tag falling out of his mouth. Hot, harsh breaths pushed against her collar bone.

“Oliver?” she cupped his face. There was nothing there, his eyes were open, but all she could see were the whites, none of the brilliant blue that she was so familiar with. “John?” more panic this time.

“He’s alright, he just passed out, probably a good thing,” Diggle explained, holding up the piece of shrapnel for her to see. It was longer than Felicity’s forearm.

Just as they had with Roy, the stripped Oliver to his underwear and moved him to the other bed. Before Diggle could bandage the shrapnel wounds, they both needed cleaning.

With more injuries to deal with, Diggle set about fixing chest wound pads to Oliver’s torso as Felicity, with trembling hands, gently dabbed at his leg with a piece of wet sheet.

The whole ordeal, tending to the both of them, took over three hours and it was well and truly dark now. They found some dusty but clean blankets tucked under the bed and had thrown them over to two near naked men. 

Felicity offered to stay awake first. Her hip was painful and she didn’t think she was going to be able to sleep anyway. Diggle wrapped himself in one of the remaining blankets and fell asleep sitting up on the floor at the end of Roy’s bed.

He had told her to wake him up when she was tired, but, truth be told, she felt like she could stay awake for days. The adrenaline was still coursing through her, she could feel it in the tips of her fingers, hear it in her ears. 

Something changed outside, she couldn’t tell exactly what, but the ambiance was all of a sudden different. She reached slowly for her rifle and then crawled silently to the window. There was a near full moon and the light it threw was helpful as she scanned the square through her scope. 

She had almost convinced herself that she was just losing her mind, until a flicker of movement halted her search. There was somebody there. She fumbled for the night vision goggles in her back pack. The NVGs allowed her to take better advantage of the moonlight. There were two men, not far from the house, carrying rifles not to dissimilar to her own. She looked back up the hill, unable to spot any more. 

The indifference with which she killed them, in quick succession, one bullet each, frightened her. She sat there for five minutes, making sure nobody else was coming, and then clued in to another odd sound. This one was in the room.

One of the boys, her boys, was wheezing. She pushed the goggles off her head and moved towards Diggle. It wasn’t him, but he was out like a light and she didn’t dare wake him.  
Felicity moved to Roy, and found the breathless noises were coming from him. 

“Shit, Roy,” she whispered.

Racing to the first aid kit, she found what she knew she needed. An over the needle catheter, some tape and a surgical glove. She snipped a finger off the glove and poked the needle all the way through it. 

She tugged the blanket down from around his shoulders and, in the dark, found his collar bone. She applied a bit of pressure to enable her to find his ribs, she counted the second one and the third one. 

Muttering a quick ‘sorry’ she pushed the needle in at a 90 degree angle, fast at first and then slowly, listening for the rush of air. As soon as she heard it, she stopped, threaded the catheter off the needle and taped it into place. The piece of glove shook and then collapsed in on itself, just as she hoped it would.

“Well done, Smoak,” Diggle whispered wearily.

She jumped and dropped the medical supplies in her hands.

“Fuck, sir, you scared me,” she breathed out shakily, laughing a little.

Diggle shifted, groaning a little, then resettled.

“How you doin’?” he asked.

She nodded.

“How’s your gut?”

“It’s been better, sir,” she replied, “It’s not bothering me so much.”

It was a lie. The burning pain was toeing the line between ‘not a bother’ and ‘is this what it’s like to have babies?’. She was sure it was infected. She’d been aware of her increasing temperature for the past couple of hours. It was hard to see in the dark, but she would have put money on there being something other than blood coming from the wound now.

“Why don’t I believe you, Petty Officer?” Diggle questioned.

“Would you like me to take a look at you, sir?” she ignored him, sitting down next to him.

“I’m fine, Felicity,” he insisted, “Why don’t you rack out for a while?”

“I won’t be able to sleep,” she replied.

Diggle nodded and they fell into a comfortable silence. 

Despite her insistence otherwise, Felicity dozed off for a few minutes. 

 

“Lic-ty,” Oliver was calling for her. It woke her in an instant.

He was restless, tossing his head around, gasping.

“You’re okay, Oliver,” Diggle assured him.

“Head hurts,” he grizzled.

Felicity cupped his face and ran a thumb over his eyebrow, trying to straighten them out. The crease between his brows was deep.

“Gotta get squared away,” he moaned.

“Relax, Oliver, we are,” Diggle was repeating.

“John, what is happening?”

“Fel-c-ty.”

“I’m not sure, might be a seizure, a result of the concussion,” he offered.

Oliver was shaking his head, his breath hitching, almost to the point of hyperventilation.

“Are they coming?” he kept repeating. 

“Relax, Oliver,” Felicity ran her hand down his neck.

The seizure started in his hand, small twitches, and eventually took over his body. His limbs twitched, forcing the blanket to the floor. His muscles rippled and his hands balled tightly into fists.

“There’s diazepam in the IFAK,” Diggle rushed, moving to the backpack. Felicity turned the still convulsing Oliver onto his side. To keep him there, she needed to hold onto him, so she left her hand on his chest, his arm pinning it there anyway.

"Dig, he sounds like he is choking," Felicity's voice rose with urgency.

"He's not Felicity," Diggle shook his head, "think back to your med training, a seizure will restrict most of the muscles in the body including...?"

"The vocal chords," Felicity nodded.

"We'll get him this diazepam and he'll be fine."

Oliver's twitching limbs finally stopped, with Dig still drawing up the medication. 

"Dig, he's stopped, I think we're good," Felicity sighed.

"No, see his mouth and eyes, he's still having a seizure," Diggle glanced over.

Felicity looked back and, squinting against the harsh morning light that was coming in from the window, saw what Diggle was talking about. Oliver's eyes were flickering open and then closing as his eyes rolled back in his head. One side of his mouth was twitching, like someone with an invisible bit of string was tugging at it. 

His head turned unnaturally to the side, his right hand lifting away from his body. His muscle were taut, twitching and the seizure promptly began again. 

"Shit, Diggle!"

"I'm on it, Felicity."

Diggle pushed the needle into Oliver’s bicep and it took a couple of seconds to work. Oliver’s shoulders rounded as he stilled. Felicity could feel his heavy breaths where her hand still rested and she sighed. 

“Should we try and wake him up?” she asked, turning to Diggle who was pressing two fingers to Oliver’s throat.

He shook his head. “He’ll be out for a while now, side effect of the diazepam.”

Felicity glanced over at Roy, who was still resting, the catheter she put in still fluttering and collapsing. She would have to check it soon, to make sure it wasn’t getting blocked.

“We’ll have to keep him warm, he’s also going to have trouble thermo-regulating,” Diggle explained.

Felicity pulled her hand away, rearranged Oliver’s arms in a more comfortable position, and pulled the blanket up.

Two hours later, Felicity found herself disbelieving her own stupidity as Diggle ordered her to climb onto the cot next to the shivering Oliver.

She hissed at the pain in her side and her shoulder as she straightened out next to Oliver. She adjusted the blanket and enveloped Oliver in her arms. The coolness of his bare skin soon turned to a shared warmth. 

Oliver groaned against her collarbone.

“You’re okay, Oliver,” she whispered to him, running her fingers up and down his back.

“Okay?” he slurred. 

She could feel him trying to get his arms and legs to work. Classic Oliver. Still trying to keep on keeping on. Her arms tightened around his shoulders in an attempt to still him.

“Everyone is going to be fine, we’re going to get out of here,” she assured him.

He pushed a clumsy kiss into the space just below her collarbone and was all of a sudden heavy against her again.

As if by magic, a noise of exclamation came from Diggle.

“There’s a signal on the sat phone,” Diggle rushed. He must have plucked it from the tactical vest she discarded. Felicity craned her neck to see her watch. The face was cracked but it was still working, displaying the time as 9.37.

“Call, Dig, you have to make the call, I know it’s an unsecured line, anybody listening can track it, but, if there’s a signal, we need to make the call,” she pleaded.

Diggle nodded. He had to sort through the pile of clothes they had cut from Oliver to find the band with the important numbers on it. 

“This is Sergeant John Diggle, we need immediate air support and recovery.”

He paused.

“I don’t have ten, I can give you eight, that’s all I got.”

Diggle continued to talk to the person on the other end, often having to repeat himself. He slowly but forcefully relayed their location. He explained the state of all of them, requested a forward surgical team for both Oliver and Roy and then hung up.

Felicity looked at him expectantly.

“They’ll be an hour, tops.”

Felicity breathed a sigh of relief and pushed her lips to Oliver’s forehead.


	28. Complainte D'Un Matelot Mourant

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think there's probably five or six chapters still left in this if I can get to arranging and cutting it where I want to. 
> 
> If you ask me, there's still a lot more to explore after this, and I'm looking forward to seeing how you think the guys will cope with everything. 
> 
> Again, I don't think there's any new jargon, but if there is, Google is your best friend, I am too, so just let me know.
> 
> I hope you all enjoy it.

If they thought they were going to get out of it that easy, they were severely mistaken. The chop of rotor blades sent the remaining Taliban members who were hiding up the hill into a shooting frenzy. There were RPGs landing close to the house, bullets coming through the window, pinning them against the north wall of the house. 

Felicity was crouched over Oliver, Diggle over Roy, when she heard the Apaches open fire. The brilliance of the 50 caliber machine gun was music to her ears.

“Fuck,” Diggle grunted and she turned to see a new bullet wound in his lower back. 

“Dig,” she yelled over the noise.

“I’m good, Smoak, I’m good,” he assured her.

The fire fight died down eventually and Felicity peered out the window. SEALs were coming down the hill to form a circle for the Black Hawks to land. Apaches circled the airspace above them, maintaining a vigil. She didn’t know where everyone came from but she didn’t care.

“Sir, they’re here,” she turned to Diggle, who was slumped on his side, “Sir?” 

Jumping up, Felicity flung the door open and waved madly at the troops who were slowly stalking their way through the village.

“Hands, let me see your hands,” a petty officer trained his gun on her.

She held her hands up in the air and swallowed hard.

“Smoak?” 

“Yes.”

“The rest of you are in there?” he motioned to the house.

“Yes.”

He lowered his weapon and reached for his comms.

“I have them, sir.”

He paused.

“Roger.”

The small house filled with troops. They dragged Diggle away from Roy and the three men she’d spent the past couple of days fighting with disappeared from her view under swarms of personnel.

They bodily hauled Diggle and Roy out and the helicopter was gone before Felicity could say anything. 

“What are your injuries, Smoak?” someone placed their hands on her shoulders.

“I’m fine,” she assured them.

But she really wasn’t. The adrenaline disappeared in seconds and her legs went from under her. The SEAL in front of her pulled her upright and, with her leaning heavily against him, dragged her out of the house.

She was helped into the helicopter by two other men who laid her down and started cutting her clothes off. One of them introduced himself as Petty Officer Slade WIlson. He was kind, explained that he was on exchange from the Australian Army, and helped preserve her modesty with a few strategically placed blankets. Her teeth were chattering and his warm hand was rubbing her upper arm. She didn’t realise she was crying until he paused and put a hand on her shoulder.

“You’re okay, ma’am,” he yelled in her ear over the noise of the helicopter, “we’ve got you, we’ve got all of you.”

She couldn’t hear her own sobs but she knew they were loud. She grabbed for his collar, something to hold on to. He was pumping saline into the bullet wound in her stomach, clearing it of all the dirt. She was shaking violently. She was cold, in shock and very scared.

At some point, she didn’t know when, they took off. Before that, Oliver was pushed in on a stretcher beside her. She tried to relax, tried to stop her trembling body, her guttural cries, but she couldn’t. Oliver was wrapped in a silver space blanket, trying to keep him warm and she reached out for him. 

“You’re okay, ma’am,” Wilson was repeating again, as he tried to put an IV line in.

She knew she was too dehydrated for it to go in the back of her hand, but couldn’t convey the message. He eventually worked it out and moved to the crook of her elbow. She kept her eyes on Oliver, three men working ferociously to stop the bleeding.

“He’s okay, too,” he endeavored to assure her of Oliver’s well-being, despite the grim look on the medics’ faces.

She could feel her body giving in to the exhaustion. Her legs, as much as she wanted to keep them up, kept falling to the side, resting against the Petty Officers arm. She eventually allowed him to straighten her legs out, the pain in her side only just registered. Her eyelids were heavy and she could feel them closing. She kept twitching herself out of that near state of sleep.

"No," she said to herself more than anyone else, shaking her head.

"You're fine, Felicity, don't fight it,” Slade made her face him.

"No," she repeated, tears streaming down her face as she glanced back at Oliver. 

His head was turned towards her and he was staring right through her, his arm hung limply off the stretcher, reaching slightly for her. His teary, blue eyes unfocused, but fixed on something just beyond her. 

"Sir?" she whispered.

She was surprised that Slade heard her over the noise of the helicopter.

"We're taking care of him," he assured her, a hand on her shoulder, as he lent in to yell in her ear.

She went to reach for Oliver's hand but Slade stopped her short.

"No, Smoak," he ordered. 

She was momentarily confused by his insistence that she didn't touch the Lieutenant. She looked over at him again, seeing a lot more this time. He'd been stripped of the space blanket, his broken body smeared with blood. There were two orange pads on his chest and she heard one of the other medical officers yell 'clear'. 

It scared Felicity, the fact that Oliver's face didn't change as the charge coursed through him. She imagined that he would have blinked or grimaced, but no. His face stayed the same, his blank eyes staring at her. Tears from both eyes rolled across his face, dripping on to the stretcher.

"Oliver," she whispered.

"Hey," Slade turned her face to him with a gloved hand. "I'm going to give you something that's gonna calm you down, maybe help you doze off, relax, okay?"

"No," she shook her head, clumsily pushing his hand away.

"Come on," he chided.

"I said back the fuck off!" She screeched like a banshee.

The Petty Officer put his hands up in surrender and Felicity tried to push herself into a sitting position. He ended up helping her twist and lean against the side of the helicopter. She was still crying and she wiped furiously at her face. 

"Careful," Slade took her hand and adjusted the IV in the crook of her arm before he wiped gently at her face with a tissue.

"Harper was incredible, he did so good," she rested her head on his shoulder, "he was so brave and fierce and just didn't quit."

"Rest up, Smoak, we can debrief when we get back."

"And Diggle," she continued, "what an intensely beautiful man, and Oliver, he just kept rallying, even when he couldn't walk, couldn't keep his eyes open, he just kept trying to hold us all together."

The two of them watched another medic give the pilot a thumbs up, they'd gotten Oliver back.

"I'll remember that," he assured her, taking her hand again.

“I’m so exhausted, Slade,” she squeezed his hand, squirming to get closer to him. “I tried so hard.”

“I know, Felicity,” he rubbed circles on the back of her hand.

“I just, they need to be okay,” she insisted.

“Calm down,” he whispered in her ear, “they will be.”

They fell silent, watching the three other medics turning Oliver, packing wounds, debating whether or not to sedate him further, intubate him.

Oliver’s lifeless body, with his half-opened eyes and ashen face, made Felicity’s heart constrict, a panic setting in that she couldn’t swallow, couldn’t shake, couldn’t bear.

Slade was still holding Felicity’s hand when she heard him apologise under his breath.

She looked down to see him pushing a loaded syringe into the IV. The sedative kicked in before she could protest, but not before Oliver started seizing and vomiting blood.

 

Petty Officer Slade WIlson will never forget the look of betrayal of Felicity Smoak's face as he pushed Lorazepam into her IV.

She looked at him, her mouth a scandalised, perfectly shaped 'o'. 

"It's for your own good," he tried to assure her and himself.

Her head dropped, her chin resting against her chest and he gently laid her on her side. The dose he had given her wouldn't last long but at least he could now assess her properly. Her eyes were still open, and he knew that the drug was yet to kick in properly. He pushed her hair back off her face and adjusted the blanket on her shoulder. 

"Shit, Wilson, help," Lieutenant Harry Burns ordered urgently.

Glancing up he saw Oliver in a full blown seizure. As Harry turned Oliver on his side, he vomited coagulated, bubbly blood. Slade stepped over Felicity, looking back at her and seeing her eyes flutter close. 

The seizure didn't last long, his shoulders rounding, his chest heaving with arduous, laboured breaths. The two other medics on the team were busy cleaning and patching wounds that were pulsing with blood.

"We're good, we're good," Harry handed Slade some medical swabs to wipe the blood off Oliver's face and then a disposable suction tube to clear his mouth, "I'm gonna give the Lieutenant some more diazepam, hopefully that'll hold off the seizures until we can release the pressure in his skull."

"Do you think he'll make it?" 

Harry shrugged, "We can only get to trying, why don't you go over the PO, catalogue her injuries as extensively as you can for the trauma team?"

 

When they landed at Bagram Airbase there was a massive medical response team waiting for the two helicopters. Bravo 2 had to wait for Bravo 1 to offload Roy and Diggle, and by the time they landed, the sun was setting. 

"You assessed the Petty Officer?" A doctor asked Slade as a swarm of medical personnel slid Felicity's stretcher onto a trolley.

"I did, ma'am," he replied.

"Well, let's hear it, no time to waste," she snapped her fingers. "From head to toe, let's go."

"Multiple cuts and contusions all over her body, a few will require stitches. I'm querying a fractured cheek bone, a full thickness tear of the left rotator cuff, there's multiple GSWs, one to the right bicep, one to the left hip, one to the right thigh, I'm also querying a fractured pelvis and internal bleeding as her lower abdomen is distended and tender. Knee and ankle joints will require X-ray or MRI, query tendon damage," he read off his clipboard, jogging alongside the team wheeling her in, "The Petty Officer is lightly sedated, I gave her a half dose of Lorazepam en route as she was in quite a state, so she'll need to be monitored for any adverse reactions to it, I've also administered a broad spectrum antibiotic and cleaned the GSW on her hip, which was packed with dirt."

"Did you repack the GSW?" 

"With gauze, yes ma'am, to keep her bleeding out."

"Good man, clean up, we'll keep you in the loop," she squeezed his arm and then followed the rest of the team into a curtained area.

 

The eight men from the Bravo med crews all found themselves hanging around the medical building. 

Sympathetic E3s from the chow hall brought over coffee, chips and eventually sandwiches.

They took turns going to shower away the trauma of the day, somebody else was in charge of running to the shower shed if there was news.

Slade had been the only one to work on Felicity, the other three members of his team had had to give their undivided attention to Oliver. In Bravo 1 they were split in half, two working on Roy and two working on Diggle. 

"Tell you what, I've never seen somebody as still and unresponsive as Harper was," one of them shook their head, his thumb nail in between his teeth.

"I have," someone else spoke up, "but they were dead."

"The kid had, as far as I could count, eight bullet wounds," said the first.

"I documented 11."

"Coded twice."

"What do you give him?"

"10% chance."

"That's about what I'd give the LT, he was not looking good, penetrating head wound, 8 or 9 GSWs, cracked ribs, he coded once en route, had a seizure, vomited blood, completely unresponsive to pain stimulus."

"I'd give Sergeant Diggle 90%. He had a bullet in his kidney, so there goes his army career, I think he knew it too," Billy, Slade’s best friend leaned against the wall. 

"What makes you say that?" Slade asked.

"When he was lucid in the chopper, he was crying, said he didn't want his career to be over."

"Fuck."

"What about the little lady?" One of Roy's medics asked him.

"She was determined to stay awake, watch over Oliver and, I assume, the rest of them," he started, "she went fucking nuts when I tried to sedate her. She was talking about how fierce and brave the guys were, but, I think she was brave too, she has completely torn her left rotator cuff, her shoulder was partially dislocated and very stubborn to relocate. I would bet my house on it being caused by dragging one of them and, I would say, from her protectiveness towards the LT, it was him she dragged. The dude weighs what? 220 pounds? And the Petty Officer is probably 110 sopping wet."

"What do you think her chances are?"

"I think she'll make it. She had a nastily infected GSW to her hip, it went all the way to the bone, I flushed it ASAP and gave her antibiotics, but, I wouldn't be surprised if they amputated."

"No shit?"

"It was bad, dude."


	29. Not Fire, Not Ice

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! I don't know where all you new commenters came from, but thank you!! 
> 
> This is, again, a little filler before we get into it again.

Felicity became aware of her surroundings before she opened her eyes. There was an incessant beeping, something attached to her left index finger and the occasional voice coming over an intercom.

Hospital. Definitely military. Bethesda. Maybe Mayport. 

She dared to turn her head towards the window, her neck and shoulder protesting fiercely. Outside, she could see the distant DC skyline. Bethesda it was.

"Hello, Petty Officer Smoak, I’m Petty Officer Stacy Simmons," a woman bounced into the room, raising Felicity's bed head to a sitting position, "nice to see you in the land of the living."

"What date is it? How long have we been stateside? How is everyone?" She demanded, clawing at the air buds that fed oxygen into her nose.

"Easy does it," the nurse soothed. "You tore your rotator cuff clean off when you dislocated your shoulder, you had a stable pelvic fracture with some minor internal bleeding that cleared on its own, the wound in your hip was infected to the bone, the doctors almost had to amputate, you broke your cheek bone, that's been set with a plate, you've been in and out of consciousness for the past week, that's how long you've been stateside."

"What about everyone else?"

The nurse pursed her lips and Felicity could feel an anguished cry building in her stomach.

"They're all still alive, some of them barely, but they're all still here," she whispered.

Felicity literally collapsed back into the bed, her vision splotchy, her hands clammy.

"Felicity?"

"I'm fine, I'm fine," she swallowed hard. 

"Sergeant Diggle is in the room next door, PO Harper and Lieutenant Queen are not far up the hall," she explained, then leaned closer placing a hand on her arm, "John would probably love to see you."

"Can you help me?" Felicity asked, gesturing to the wheelchair in the corner.

"Sure," she smiled, moving the chair close to the bed.

Felicity managed to push herself into a fully upright position as Stacy stripped the bed sheets off her.

"Alright, I'm going to ease your legs over the side, you'll have to put a bit of pressure on your injured leg but just enough so we can swivel you into the wheelchair."

Felicity nodded.

The whole task took longer than the ever impatient Felicity would have liked. It was also more painful than she could have ever imagined. Her hip, still inflamed from the infection, was burning as Stacy lowered her into the wheelchair. Her eyes stung with tears and she clenched her jaw to stop them.

"You good?"

"Mmm," she replied, squeezing her eyes shut.

"Alright, let's roll."

It was no more than a forty foot trip to Diggle's room but Felicity was glad for the chair. Her body was exhausted from the move into the wheelchair.

Stacy brought Felicity to a gentle stop next to Diggle's bed and placed a hand on her good shoulder.

"I'll give you, say, half an hour?"

Felicity nodded, unable to speak due to the lump in her throat. 

Diggle's bed was in a half reclined position, his legs splayed slightly under the sheets. One hand had been placed on his stomach, the other was resting, palm up, on the edge of the bed. Felicity reached for it, squeezing gently, unable to bring herself to look at his face. The big hand twitched and squeezed hers back. 

Her eyes traced a vein all the way up his arm to his shoulder, where they eventually jumped to his face. He was stirring, his tongue flicking out to wet his lips. His eyebrows were hiking up his forehead, trying to force his eyes open. His face was grey and he looked so sick, Felicity struggled to contain tears.

"Hey," she soothed.

"Smoak?" His voice was croaky. His eyes eventually opened and he was looking right at her.

She smiled. "Hey."

Diggle shifted uncomfortably, his face contorting in pain as he adjusted the sheets across his midsection.

He resettled, closing his eyes and Felicity thought he'd fallen asleep again.

"It's good to see you, Felicity," he sighed.

"You too, sir," she replied.

"Have you been to see Oliver or Roy?" He asked, eyes still closed.

"No," she answered, so quietly she barely heard the answer herself.

He harrumphed, blindly pressing a pain relief button. 

"You look like shit, sir," she said, a teasing time in her voice.

Diggle's face broke out in a lazy smile. 

"And I'm sure you could grace the cover of Cosmo, Petty Officer," he returned.

Felicity chuckled. 

"Will you go and see Oliver and Roy?" His tone changed in an instant.

Felicity dropped her gaze to her lap.

"I just, can't, right now," she whispered.

"Soon?" he asked, and Felicity could tell he was nearly asleep.

"Soon," she assured him.

And with that, his breathing changed, his face slackened and his head rolled gently to one side. 

Felicity kept a hold of John's hand until Stacy came back. 

 

Felicity was stretching her shoulder, standing by the window, when there was a knock at the door. She turned around and saw Thea Queen, who turned her ankles as she waved, a glorious smile on her face.

“Hey.”

“Thea! Hey!” Felicity skipped and hobbled over to her.

“Don’t rush on account of me!” 

Felicity pulled the tiny brunette in to a hug, squeezing tightly, on the verge of tears.

“You are such a little warrior,” Thea whispered.

“Mmm,” Felicity didn’t know what to say.

“But you’re squashing me.”

“Oh!” Felicity startled away, “sorry.”

“You look good,” Thea nodded, taking Felicity by her elbows, stopping her from drawing away.

“I haven’t showered in god knows how long,” Felicity rolled her eyes.

“I came to see you the first day you arrived in Bethesda,” Thea felt the need to explain.

“I don’t remember,” Felicity shrugged by way of apology.

“You were pretty out of it, delirious from a fever, you looked awful, gaunt, with dark circles under your eyes, you face, it just, didn’t look like you, and you were very upset when you were awake.”

“I’m sorry,” Felicity started, realising her bottom lip was trembling as much as Thea’s.

“Don’t be sorry, Felicity, ever, you brought Roy and Oliver back, I am forever indebted to you.”

“Well,” Felicity tapped the tips of her fingers together conspiratorially, “you could put a dent in your debt by helping me wash my hair?”

“Of course!” Thea’s sob choked into a giggle.

Five minutes later, Felicity was resting with her head against the hand basin in the bathroom. She cleared her throat.

“How’s Roy?”

Thea paused as she ran her fingers through Felicity’s hair. It was only momentary, she continued to wet her hair, considering how to answer.

“I don’t know, Felicity,” Thea shrugged, “He’s still comatose, his poor body.”

Felicity pursed her lips, regretting bringing it up, but Thea continued on her own terms.

“They think he would have died if it weren’t for you, John said you were the one who improvised something to relieve the air pocket in his lungs.”

“Yeah…”

“And Oliver, you helped save him too,” Thea nodded, as she began massaging the shampoo in.

“I did all I could, Thea, I’m sorry.”

Thea’s stern face loomed over hers all of sudden.

“Stop saying sorry, Smoak, you did more than enough, let me wash your hair.”

Felicity nodded.

“Have you seen Tommy?” Thea asked.

“Briefly, yesterday,” Felicity explained, “I was a bit of a zombie, there wasn’t much conversation to be had.”

“He said you were still a bit fuzzy, you seem good today though?”

“I feel better, I’m off the pain medication, I think that was throwing me a lot.”

The next ten minutes were silent, save for the running water and the occasional sniff from both young women.

“Lyla had her baby,” Thea spoke, “a little girl, Holly.”

“That’s wonderful, did John make it to the birth?” Felicity smiled.

“No, he is still on strict bed rest, but they let her come up to the ward the same day, so it was a lovely little surprise for Diggle, but he won’t hold her, Felicity.”

“Oh no,” Felicity whispered.

“Yeah, I mean, he’s scared of holding her, doesn’t want to hurt her. I suppose I can’t blame him.”

“Yeah… Congratulations, by the way,” Felicity spoke, “how far along are you?”

“Nearly three months, the announcement is imminent,” Thea grinned. “Except of course, everyone already knows.”

“So it was a Dubai baby?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Thea giggled, but sobered quickly, as if she shouldn’t be laughing in a situation like theirs.

“Thea, you’re allowed to smile,” Felicity explained gently.

“Can you, um, can you, like, with that wound to your stomach?” Thea bumbled her way through a sentence.

“Can I get pregnant?” Felicity replied bluntly.

Thea nodded, “sorry, I just didn’t know how straight I was allowed to be with you.”

“It’s fine, and the unfortunate answer is I just don’t know,” Felicity shrugged, “there was a fair bit of damage to my reproductive organs, plus the infection meant that they had to remove a lot of tissue around the site, I guess I’ll just have to cross my fingers, I’ve got a lot of scar tissue to work around.”

“Oh, Felicity,” Thea’s hand went instinctively to her stomach.

“We’re going to get everything worked out,” Felicity assured her.

“I know.”

“It won’t be a perfect solution, but, you need to know you will literally have the entire US navy behind you,” Felicity spoke ardently.

Thea nodded. “Are you going to see the boys soon?”

“I have.”

“Bullshit,” Thea tugged a little too roughly as she combed the conditioner through.

“It’s too hard, right now.”

“You like my brother?” but it was said more as a statement than a question. “If you do, you need to go see him. He’s likes you. A lot. You do something for him. Don’t think I didn’t know what was going on in Dubai.”

Felicity remained silent, closing her eyes to a flood of flashbacks.

Sensing that Felicity was elsewhere, that the approach she took probably wasn’t the right one, Thea began rinsing the conditioner from her hair. 

“Given time, everything is going to be fine, you are going to be fine,” Thea assured her.

“I know,” Felicity nodded, “so are you.”

“I know,” Thea smiled. And Felicity knew she would be.


	30. Keep Breathing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello Lovelies! 
> 
> Right, so this will be the last update until Monday. I'm sorry!! I'm taking a day off work and me and the boyfriend are going camping. There's no phone reception or anything. It's quite a delightful prospect.
> 
> So yeah, you're going to be left with a little bit of cliff hanger (not nearly as bad as before, I promise), but I will reward your patience with a MASSIVE chapter on Monday. Cross my heart.

Oliver's eyes were half opened, but unseeing. The breathing tube pulled one side of his mouth into a frown. His beard had been trimmed, his hair cropped close all over. Most of his cuts had been stitched, his bruises turning an ugly greeny/yellow colour. His bare shoulders stuck out of the top of the blanket, also covered in stitches and bruises.

Diggle was sat at his bedside, dwarfing the wheelchair he was in. He had propped himself up on one hand and was dozing, his eyes closed, snoring slightly.

"John?" she whispered, hobbling around the end of the bed and half sitting, half standing against it.

She reached forward to touch John's shoulder. His eyes opened lazily and he appeared to take a moment to remember where he was. 

“Smoak," he finally acknowledged.

"Hey," she smiled.

"How you doing?"

"All good, managed to kick the bone infection," she explained, "how are you?"

"Getting there."

"And Oliver?"

"Getting there," he repeated, rubbing the stubble on his chin.

"Roy?"

"You know more than I do," Diggle stated, hinting at the fact he knew she'd hacked into the hospital files.

Felicity shrugged. The med-evac flight over had proved too much for his damaged body to deal with. He was just holding on. The doctors had spent the last week discussing switching off his life support with Thea. Felicity was feeling guilty, like she could have done more for Roy in those three days. More to protect him.

-

Felicity's shrugged conveyed more than she could ever know.

"Don't, Felicity," Diggle sighed at the guilty look on her face.

Her bottom lip trembled.

"Hey," he squeezed her knee. "You're a fucking frog man, suck it the fuck up."

"I'm a sailor, Dig, a fucking communications sailor," she hissed. "I was not cut out for that op."

"You helped save Roy and Oliver," he tried to reason with her, "At the end of the day, you saved us all."

"That's bullshit, you know that. You know as well as I do that I should not have been crash posted to Murphy with you guys. I don't know if it was some publicity stunt that Captain Waller dreamed up or if HQ just wanted a laugh, but it should not have been me with you guys in Afghanistan."

"But it was, Felicity, and there were moments out there where you were irreplaceable," he spoke softly.

Felicity held eye contact with him for a while. He silently pleaded with her to let go of the demons that she was dragging around with her. He could have done to take some of his own advice. He occasionally startled himself loose of dreams where enemies were closing in, an unbearable edge of your seat, sick to your stomach tension squeezing at his chest. 

Felicity adjusted the sling around her neck and got up, peering around the curtain at Roy, who was in a similar position to Oliver. A nurse came in occasionally and turned the two of them on their side. Diggle hated watching them do it. The languid listlessness of their limbs as they were moved made Diggle's stomach clench in panic. 

Felicity placed a hand on his shoulder and bent gingerly to kiss his cheek.

"I'm gonna go take a nap," she whispered.

Diggle nodded, his throat too constricted to reply. She returned to Roy's bedside, squeezed his hand, whispered something that Diggle couldn't hear and came back to Oliver. 

Diggle watched her contemplate her lieutenant, as if unsure about where to touch him. His hands were hidden under the sheet so she cupped his face, something slightly too intimate to someone who was unaware of the ins and outs of the Queen/Smoak relationship, and rubbed a thumb over his brow. She cleared her throat and glanced at Diggle, smiling timidly before leaving.

 

"Felicity?" Barry knocked on the door to her room and, upon receiving no reply, took a few tentative steps in.

The room looked empty, the bed was made, uncrumpled, just as he expected from a military hospital.

He stood still and scanned the room. It was spotless, but he could smell Felicity as he closed his eyes and took in a deep breath. 

He was about to turn and leave when he heard a sniffle. 

"Felicity?" he tried again. 

Another sniffle.

He saw her then, sitting in the corner behind the visitors chair. 

"Hey," he smiled, approaching her carefully and squatting down in front of her. 

She turned her head away from him in a move that he recognised as an attempt to hide her blotchy face.

“Hey,” he tried again, softer this time, “what’s wrong?”

“They’re not going to make it, Barry, Roy-” she hiccupped, “Oliver.”

Barry sat down next to her and bundled her into his lap.

“Ssh,” he whispered, brushing her hair off her face as she sobbed into his neck.

“They’re going to die, and I don’t know what to do, I can’t save them, Barry, I couldn’t save them in Afghanistan and I sure as hell can’t save them now, they must be in so much pain and I don’t know how much more I can take.”

“Oh, Felicity,” he cupped the back of her neck and squeezed her closer.

“I can’t, I won’t be able to deal with it if they die, if Oliver dies, I don’t know how I’m supposed to feel about that, how I’m supposed to react when I hear the doctors talking about switching of Roy’s life support, Thea can’t lose both of them, and, maybe selfishly so, neither can I.”

“You are not going to lose them, Felicity,” Barry replied.

“You don’t know that,” Felicity counteracted.

“Neither do you.”

She sniffed, bringing a hand up to chew on her thumbnail.

“I went to see them yesterday afternoon,” she started.

“I know,” Barry replied, “Diggle told me.”

“To me, Roy was always this jittery guy, full of nervous energy, always moving, and yesterday, he was so still, so, he was just. so. still.”

“Mmm.”

“And Oliver, he looks awful, he’s so pale, so vulnerable, he looks dead, Barry, he already looks dead and I-”

“Felicity,” Barry rushed, a little harsher than he meant, “You need to stop. You need to stop thinking like this, it’s not good for you, and it’s not good for them. You can’t just give up.”

“I’m not giving up, I’m being realistic,” she delivered without any emotion.

“And difficult,” Barry whispered.

Felicity made an unimpressed noise in the back of her throat and settled into his lap.

“He has to be okay,” she whispered.

“He will be,” Barry whispered into her hair.

Barry had been aware of Felicity’s feelings for Oliver the minute he saw her in the hospital. 

She’d lost nearly twenty pounds from her already small frame. He was unsure how much of that was due to the deployment and how much was due to her ordeal and her injuries. The smudges under her eyes were almost black, he wasn’t sure whether they were bruises or just exhaustion. 

Felicity had been completely out of it the three or four times that Barry had come to visit. She was in pain though, he knew, from the way her eyebrows creased together when she slept. She was awake once, the first time he’d seen her, and she’d shouted his name, Oliver’s, loud, breathless and panicked. When she’d seen Barry instead, she had burst into tears and, with no new information on Oliver, she was inconsolable, convinced he was dead. 

It was an odd thing, seeing someone you were in love with, someone you still love, in love with someone else. It did strange things to Barry’s insides. It wasn’t jealously, just confusion. He and Oliver were very different people with very different personalities.

Barry and Felicity were perfectly perfect for each other. There was no denying that. They were so close still, despite the involuntary break up. For them, it had been much easier to remain friends than to just ignore their initial attraction for each other. 

Yet, here they were, pining for people they couldn’t have. His girlfriend had decided, just last week, that being a Navy wife was not for her, and they’d gone their separate ways. 

“You need rest and relaxation and a hot bubble bath with a glass of wine,” Barry spoke up.

Felicity nodded.

“But for now,” he squeezed her closer to him, “just rest.”

 

Barry didn’t recall dozing off – but then, he thought, who actually remembers falling asleep?

The skin and bones of Felicity in his lap made his stomach flip flop and he squeezed her, rubbing his hand up her arm. Felicity stirred and squeaked a little.

“Hey,” he untangled his arms from hers and stretched, pushing Felicity more upright with his chest as he did so, “How you feeling?”

“Still a little fragile,” she made a woeful attempt to smile, tears immediately pricking her eyes.

Barry glanced at his watch and sighed.

“I’ve got to get back to the ship, I’m on duty tonight,” he explained.

He helped Felicity stand up and then pushed himself upright.

“Please believe me when I tell you that the boys will be fine, they have to be, they’ve seen your wrath before, they know what’s in store for them if they don’t make it,” he pulled her in for one last hug. 

“I know,” Felicity sighed, “I’ll bring them back to life, just to kill them again.”

Barry chuckled and Felicity couldn’t help herself.

“You rest up,” he held her at arms length, squeezing her shoulders, “that bubble bath is closer than you think.”

“Yeah,” she smiled at him, a brighter smile this time.

Barry picked his coat up off the floor and turned to leave.

“Barry?” Felicity called after him.

“Yeah?” he turned around, the hope in his heart swelling into his throat, making his reply crackle.

“Next time you come, could you bring some dim sum?”

Barry laughed, closing his eyes and looking down at the ground. “Of course.”

-

Felicity climbed onto her bed, the sheets smelling like the laundry powder she was so used to now. She clicked her tablet in to her keyboard and started trying to break through the encryption on the hospital network.

She wanted to try and push her discharge forward a few weeks. She was getting bored and wanted to get back to work, even if it was just a desk job. It had to be better than sitting around here.

She couldn’t even find her file in the system, nor Oliver’s, but Diggle’s and Roy’s were readily available. Diggle was set for discharge two weeks from now, which coincided with baby Holly’s first round of vaccinations, to be received at Bethesda. 

Roy, on the other hand, was still unconscious, his file stated they were going to take him off the ventilator some time that afternoon. He was improving, thanks to Thea’s never wavering faith in him to come back to her. Felicity spotted discharge papers in his file. Not hospital discharge papers, navy discharge papers. They’d already made the decision that he was medically unfit to ever return to service, an ominous insight into his injuries.

“Fuck,” Felicity whispered, wiping tears of frustration off her face.

She searched for Oliver’s file by his room number.

“Gotcha,” she wiggled her fingers in excitement.

His broken ribs had all but healed, his damaged lungs had managed to mend themselves. The surgeons had had to cut away a lot of tissue to properly mend the shrapnel wound in his leg. It had been recommended that he start physiotherapy as soon as possible to build the muscle back up. The penetrating head wound that he’d gotten from the rock had left no permanent damage, as far as the doctors could tell at this stage. He had not had a seizure since before the four of them were flown state side and, since he had been off the ventilator overnight, things were looking good.

Felicity locked her tablet quickly as someone ran into her room.

“I most definitely was not hacking hospital files,” she rushed.

Thea wore a massive smile on her face, she had tears in her eyes and she grabbed Felicity’s hand.

“Ollie is awake!” she exclaimed. “The doctors spent the morning reducing his sedative and then he opened his eyes! And Roy is off the ventilator! Felicity!”

Felicity smiled, exhaling a breath that she had probably been holding for three or four weeks.

“I might come in later, once everything has settled,” Felicity nodded, “you should go.”

Thea nodded, kissed Felicity’s cheek and skipped out of her room.

 

It would be a week before Felicity ventured in to visit Oliver.


	31. Rainy Season

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So THIS will definitely be the last update before I go away for the weekend. I decided to leave you with a big one. It's probably double the length of anything else I've posted so maybe, I dunno, split it up and read a bit each day? I have not quite finished the next chapter, it's something that needs to be perfect, so you'll have to bear with me a couple of days after I get back.
> 
> This chapter, however, was pretty full on to write and edit. For not being in the combat zone anymore, there's a lot happening. 
> 
> I hope you enjoy it. It was too hard to choose where to split this piece of writing so I hope you can sit through it

They sat in silence for three hours. Not one word passed between them.

Oliver limped over the window, Felicity taking it as her queue to leave.

“I’ll just go then,” she stood, shrugging.

“This ends today, I’m done Felicity, I quit,” Oliver shrugged.

“You think this ends with you handing in your discharge request?” Felicity scoffed, approaching him quickly, angrily.

“Yes, I do, I can’t stand the idea of being in an organisation where people are killed every day because of orders given by those higher up who have no idea what it’s like on the ground, I’m not going to stay in the navy and let one more person die.”

“So you’re going to become some anti-war hippy?” she began, irrationally. 

“This ends, for all of us, when I am discharged, that’s something that I’ve come to accept.”

Felicity raised an eyebrow that she hope conveyed her best “do you hear yourself right now?” face.

“That’s not when this ends! It’s probably never going to end! It’s going to take a lot for this to end. You leaving the SEALs to ease your man pain isn’t one of them. If you need to leave because you mentally can’t do it anymore, sure, I will support you through that, everyone will, but resolving to leave behind a brilliant career because you feel guilty? I don’t accept that,” Felicity stepped closer still to Oliver, “and you shouldn’t either, you can’t just accept things, Oliver.”

She was staring right up at him now and he gave her a look that said he wanted to be alone. But she wanted to be heard.

“If I’d accepted my life, Oliver, I’d still be working in a café in a shitty part of town, I never would have gone to college, never would have joined the navy, and I never would have believed some crazy lieutenant with a god complex when he told me I could be more than just a sailor,” she rambled. “Please don’t do this, they win if you do this.”

“Felicity,” his voice was strained, “someone once told me that the essence of heroism was to die so that others may live, I owe my life to the men that died of Turbine 42, I owe them my navy career.”

“It’s not that simple, Oliver,” Felicity argued.

“Yes it is,” his snapped back, “their whole plan is to take everything from us. They did, they win. All that’s left is for me retire, go and live in the country, and die.”

“They took everything? You have nothing?” Felicity spat, disgusted at his behaviour, “you have a beautiful sister who is here. I am here. You still have so much left to do in the navy, Oliver, you have the power to change things, there has to be another way.”

“There isn’t. I was command control, we’ve been court marshalled, Felicity, they’ll find me guilty of something and dishonourably discharge me!” he voice rose a whole octave as he yelled.

“You have done nothing to be found guilty of,” she lowered her voice, hoping that this would make him see reason, and grabbed for his hand, “I will swear my own naval career on that.”

He looked over her whole face, as if she somehow held the answers to the future, before he turned away from her and limped towards the window.

Felicity held onto his hand as long as she could, even after he’d turned away from her. He eventually stepped out of her reach and she had to let go.

She stood there for a few minutes, but Oliver didn’t look back at her. She shrugged to herself, sniffling. She was crying, not out of sadness, but out of anger and frustration. 

"I hauled your sorry ass for miles across the deepest parts of Khost province, miles, Oliver!” Felicity yelled at him. “And you have done nothing but be a cold, heartless bastard. I get it, okay, I get the reasoning behind shutting down but, news flash! I'm hurting too. So is Dig, so is Roy. We're all hurting, we're all scarred!”

Oliver still hadn’t moved from his position of staring out the window, so Felicity took it upon herself to continue.

“But you do not get to mope around with the weight of this on your shoulders simply because you were command control,” she saw him flinch slightly at this. Good. “The responsibility for the 29 lives lost on Turbine 42 is not yours. It falls to the men who fired that RPG. In that instant, the four of us became responsible for each other. And we were. We looked after each other, had each others backs. We were horrendously outnumbered.”

“It was my fault we were outnumbered,” he spoke softly. 

“No, sir,” Felicity shook her head. “Roy fought like a mountain lion, full of heart despite his injuries. Diggle was ruthless out there, so calm and collected. You were a true leader sir, even when you lost consciousness, you helped get Dig and I through that last fourteen hours.”

“I did nothing to help you in those hours before the CSAR team arrived,” he shook his head, but Felicity was on a roll now.

“I thought you were dead! You inconsiderate nincompoop!” she waved her good arm in the air, despite the fact he couldn’t see her, “Dead! Dying, Oliver! Do you get that? You know what happens when you die? You're dead, that's it! Do you know how I would have felt about that? You have no idea of the horrendous things my heart and stomach do when that thought crosses my mind!” 

He turned to her then, his head cocked to the side. She’d finally peaked his interest.

“Your sister is struggling because all she sees is Roy struggling. Diggle is too scared to hold his daughter! Me? I'm terrified every second of every minute of every day. All the time. Someone slammed a door up the hall the other day and the next thing I knew, I was under my bed. It took Barry twenty minutes to coax me out. So,” she straightened her t-shirt and squared her shoulders, “you are allowed to be scared. You are allowed to be angry but you, sir, are not allowed to ignore me."

"Are you done?" Oliver had crossed the room and was nose to nose with her.

"For now," she replied confidently.

"Good," his voice wavered and his eyes brimmed with tears.

His bottom lip quivered, one eye twitched and three tears ran down his cheek.

And that was it. That was when his exhausted body gave out. His face contorted, his shoulders rounded and he fell to his knees, sobbing gutturally as he pushed his face into Felicity's stomach, wrapping his arms tightly around her.

"Oh, Oliver," she whispered, her fingers bunching on the back of his scalp. 

He was shaking uncontrollably, his whole body vibrating against her stomach and legs. Felicity managed to pry his arms loose enough so that she could kneel down in front of him. He dropped his arms to his side, helpless and prone. His sobs sounded so juvenile, boy-ish and innocent and it broke Felicity's heart that little bit more. Oliver's fragility, in stark contrast to the stone cold facade that he had built, left Felicity feeling helpless. 

"I’m done with the killing, I’m done leading men into a slaughter," he sobbed, wiping his nose on the back of his hand, “I'm so exhausted, Felicity.”

"Lay down, come on," she coaxed him to a sitting position up against the wall and then helped him lay down. She laid down too, as best she could without stretching her stitches and ran her fingers down the side of his face, smoothing out the worried lines that formed around his eyes. 

As his cries subsided from wracking sobs to occasional sniffs and hiccups, he relaxed a little.

"There we go," Felicity whispered.

"What is happening, Felicity? What is happening to me?"

Felicity considered her answer for a minute. Oliver was too tired to even open his eyes and, when Felicity didn't answer straight away, he hummed a little.

"PTSD affects everyone differently, Oliver," she explained, "Roy has nightmares, Diggle checks the locks on doors and windows over and over."

"I don't do that," Oliver scoffed sleepily.

"No, but you are so tense and wired that you can't relax,” her words were calmly breathed more than they were spoken, “You can't get into a healthy routine back here and it is having a huge effect on you, physically and mentally. You can't convince yourself to let your guard down and relax, so you can't sleep."

"What about you?"

"Noises," she replied instantly, "noises and not having an exit. Everywhere I go I need to have a way to get out."

"Maybe I need to talk to the psych."

"Maybe," she whispered, "but for now, just relax and get some sleep, I'm right here."

She fumbled blindly for a pillow and pulled it off the bed, then reached back up for a blanket. She coaxed Oliver's head up and slid the pillow underneath it before arranging the blanket over them. 

"You have the watch, Petty Officer," he slurred.

"I have the watch, sir," she replied without missing a beat.

Oliver had been asleep (or very close to the edge of sleep) for about an hour and a half when the door creaked open. 

-

Diggle peered in, seeing the empty bed first and then the two of them on the floor, Felicity on her side with her back to him. She'd propped herself on her elbow and was absently rubbing Oliver's upper arm. Oliver was snoring softly, turned into Felicity, his hands balled loosely in between them. 

"Felicity," Diggle said softly, not wanting to startle her. 

She turned her head to see him and he noticed the grimace on her face.

"Hey, you okay?" His eyebrows crinkled.

"My shoulder is just fucked," she replied and there was audible pain in her voice. 

"All right," and Diggle rushed to her as quickly as he could. He squatted down and helped Felicity sit up.

"Shit," she hissed, grabbing at her shoulder with her good hand. She almost had to push it down, stretching the muscles that had been bunched up. 

“Need help?” Diggle straightened and stood with his hands on his hips.

“Nope.”

"You're okay," Diggle assured her. 

"Yep."

-

Felicity moved around to sit against the wall near Oliver's head, while Diggle relaxed into a vinyl sofa adjacent to her. 

Oliver stirred, opened his eyes momentarily, got eyes on Diggle and Felicity and settled back into the pillow. He reached out and placed a hand on Felicity's thigh. 

Despite her protesting shoulder, she put her hand back on Oliver's upper arm. He tensed at her touch but relaxed soon after.

"We're a mess, Dig," she whispered. 

"We're a damn sight tidier than we were up in those mountains," he replied.

"Hooah," she smiled.

"They're gonna get Roy up and out of bed this afternoon," Diggle spoke up after a lull.

"That's wonderful," Felicity sighed, tears in her eyes.

"We're gonna have to rally," Diggle continued and she knew exactly what he meant. 

It was going take a lot to get Roy fighting fit again. If ever. Diggle, despite being a completely different branch of military, was now a part of the navy family. Their navy family. He was prepared to take the responsibility along with Oliver, Felicity and other members of the SEAL team and the ships company, of challenging Roy. And keep challenging him. As well as supporting Thea.

As if sensing that Felicity's thoughts were on her, Thea appeared in the open doorway.

Her face softened when she spotted the three of them, her smile lighting up the room when she made eye contact with Felicity.

Diggle, ever the military gentleman, stood and lent in to kiss her cheek. They exchanged a few words just out of Felicity's scope of hearing and smiled at each other, despite the tears that danced on Thea's lower lashes. 

Thea squatted down in front of Oliver and, using the wall to support herself, lent towards Felicity and kissed her forehead. 

"Hey Warrior Woman," Thea smiled.

"Hey Mama," Felicity replied, eyes raking over her now slightly protruding belly.

Thea reached for her brother’s hand, squeezing softly.

"Ollie," she whispered in a way that only a younger, adoring sister could.

"He is racked out, Speedy," Diggle offered.

"Good," she smiled, still looking at her brothers face. 

She hung around for a few minutes before excitedly excusing herself to go and see Roy.

Lyla arrived not long after. Visiting hours meant they wouldn't be alone for the next three hours. 

Felicity watched as she sat on the lounge next to Diggle, both of them fussing over their fussing newborn. Little Holly Diggle was a baby not to be messed with. She had a decent set of lungs, a fierce scream, and surprising strength in her little hands.

"Do you want to take her?" Lyla asked Diggle.

His eyes widened and he stammered.

"Come on, John," she insisted.

He finally opened his arm and allowed his wife to place the tiny bundle against his chest.

If Felicity thought that Holly looked tiny in Lyla's arms, when it came to Diggle, she was officially the world's tiniest human.

Holly snuggled into her Dad's arms, made a little whimpering noise and then promptly fell asleep.

Diggle took in a shaky breath and with tear filled eyes, looked at his wife. 

Lyla smiled encouragingly and Felicity looked away in order to afford the couple as much privacy as she could.

"Felicity!" Oliver's heavy hand tightened dramatically around her thigh and she went to protest loudly but the shout died in her throat; she didn't want to wake Holly.

"Oliver," she shook his shoulder, then resorted to poking him, "Oliver, you're hurting me."

Diggle passed Holly back to Lyla and pushed himself up with some degree of effort. He stiffly knelt down in front of Oliver. 

Oliver was already fighting back before he’d even opened his eyes, a hand shot up and made for Diggle’s throat. 

“Oliver,” Diggle gasped, trying to pry Oliver’s vice like grip from around his throat.

Oliver was grunting, his face menacing, eyebrows pulled together. Diggle had managed to push his hands down on to his chest and Felicity thought that he had it under control.  
Oliver moved faster than Felicity ever imagined, faster than she could even register. He sat bolt upright, pushing Diggle away, sending him sprawling into his back. There were grunts of discomfort and a squeal of surprise as Felicity clambered to her feet. 

Lyla was out the door, holding Holly tightly in her arms and shouting for help. A doctor who responded in impressively short time looked set to reason with Oliver but earned a bone shattering punch to the jaw before he could even start. 

A few more nurses came into the room and the male ones stepped forward. 

Oliver was looking around, a terrifying look on his face and fire in his eyes. He locked onto Felicity and rushed at her. 

"No, no, no," she held her hands out, feebly attempting to stop the charge. 

He grabbed her by the waist, lifted her up and slammed her into the wall. 

"Oof," she wheezed as all the air was forced from her lungs. 

Felicity, in her peripheral visions, was aware of the bigger guys circling in around Oliver and her. They were being waved off by Diggle, but she didn't break eye contact with Oliver. He was breathing heavily, eyes wild with terror. She nodded, trying to encourage and sooth him, make him aware of his surroundings, snap him out of whatever he thought was happening. 

"Please don't hurt my brother!" she heard Thea scream from the doorway. 

Just as Oliver appeared to be calming down, one of the nurses launched himself towards them and stuck Oliver in the upper arm with a needle.

He grunted in surprise, his eyes going to the nurse. He roared furiously at the nurse, his face contorted in anger.

Felicity was aware of his grip loosening and she felt herself sliding down the wall. She took Oliver's chin between her thumb and index finger and turned his face back to her. 

"You are okay, Lieutenant Queen, I’m okay,” she smiled tearily, “you are going to be fine, Oliver, I promise you. I am here and I will take care of you."

His face softened and he looked confused, like he was suddenly aware of his surroundings. His eyelids were growing heavy and looked like he was trying to say something.

"Sorry," he managed to get out as he slumped towards Felicity.

"Oh!" She exclaimed, catching him and sliding down the wall to the floor.

She released a shaky breath and held Oliver's head to her chest. A wave of déjà Vu rushed over and she had to suppress the visceral reaction she had to the memory.

Felicity was aware of Thea sobbing and Diggle moving to comfort her, but in the foreground, three orderlies were closing in to move Oliver.

"No," she shook her head and pulled Oliver in closer.

"Petty Officer," one of them argued with an air of warning.

"No, you've done enough, seriously, just back off," she spat.

She was fiercely upset, holding a very limp Oliver in arms with men surrounding her.

"Alright," came a voice that Felicity recognised but couldn't place, "how about everyone chills out, back off, give her a bit of space, you're scaring her.”

Suddenly Laurel's face loomed in front of hers. She smiled sympathetically. "You did good, Felicity," she nodded.

"Th-thank you," she stammered a nasally reply, only then realising that she was crying and her nose was running. 

"How about you let them take a look at him and you, make sure that neither of you are hurt," Laurel suggested with such an easy tone in her voice that it could have been the best idea Felicity had ever heard. 

"Ok-k-kay," Felicity loosened her grip of Oliver but didn't let go entirely. 

"There we go," Laurel turned to motion towards an orderly, "just one of you, don't crowd her."

Looking back at that incident, Felicity realised that Oliver wasn't the only one who was convinced he was back in that godforsaken abandoned village. 

Two orderlies, both with military insignia had picked Oliver up and returned him to his bed.

Two others helped Felicity to her feet and led her to the door.

"Is that really necessary?" She heard Thea exclaim and, turning her attention back to the room, she saw them attaching restraints to Oliver's wrists.

"Oh, please don't do that," Laurel was saying.

Felicity couldn't speak. She felt weak at the knees as the adrenaline left her. 

"You've ripped your stitches," an orderly explained. 

That also explains the weak at the knees things, Felicity thought.

"Pardon?" 

"I'm a little dizzy," she said. 

"Alright, we'll slow down," the other one said, and they both rearranged their grip on her. 

"How embarrassing," she laughed a little. 

"How are you feeling?” one of them asked as they finally arrived at her room.

"Mhmm," she nodded as they sat her on the edge of her bed. 

"You alright?" 

Felicity shrugged, sobbed once and pushed her face in the nurses arm.

"Sit tight," he said after a few minutes, "your doctor will be in after he's checked on Oliver." 

 

After the doctor had cleaned and re stitched the wound on her hip, Felicity went straight back to Oliver's room. 

He was still out of it, still restrained by the padded cuffs on his wrists and ankles.

Laurel was flipping through the stack of documents in her lap and, judging by the pile of them on the floor, was in it for the long haul. 

"Laurel," Felicity spoke up from just inside the room, "can I come in?"

"Felicity!" She smiled and closed the file she was working on, standing and motioning for her to come forward. 

She embraced Felicity tentatively, careful not to squeeze her too tight.

"You, um, you bunked with my sister on USS Chinook," laurel explained as she pulled away.

"Sara, right?”

"Yeah," Laurel smiled.

"I, ah, sorry,” Felicity struggled to find something to say and, when she came up lacking, continued, “I don’t really know, what I’m supposed to say now."

"No worries, you need a seat?"

"Ah, yeah, I really do," Felicity nodded, grateful for the offered.

"Are you- are you okay?" Laurel pulled over another seat as Felicity sat down.

"Yeah, I'm fi- I'm getting there," Felicity corrected herself.

Felicity watched Laurel considering her, her head cocked to one side, her bottom lip between her teeth. She was leaning forward on one of the arms of the chair.

"So, you're that Laurel, gorgeous Laurel," Felicity blurted out to break the silence, cringing instantly.

The corners of Laurel's mouth turned up and she blushed.

"I found out about all of this on the news," Laurel explained, "nobody bothered to call me.”

“I’m sorry, it’s been kind of-”

"Not even Tommy got in contact with me. I thought he would."

"Laurel, I-"

"It's okay, I was the one who bailed from the relationship, Oliver was just spectacularly prompt, as always, and removed me from his military file," she explained with a wave of her hand, "I just wish that someone would have thought to pick up the phone and let me know, it was a shock, finding out at work, the first reports were that two SEALs, a green beret and a sailor were missing, with 29 others from both special ops team dead, and I knew, well, at that point I felt, that one way or another Oliver was involved. When they released your name to the media, I knew, I knew from a conversation I'd had with Sara, saying that you'd been crash posted to Afghanistan as part of a team that Oliver was with, ugh, Felicity, I vomited all day."

Felicity could do nothing but nod, sensing that this was the first time she'd managed to get it off her chest.

"What happened to you guys?" She implored.

Felicity shook her head, tears stinging her eyes, her stomach twisting, her hands shaking. "I can't, Laurel, I can't right now."

"Okay," Laurel reached for Felicity's hand and took it in her own.

Her phone beeped and Laurel glanced at it.

"Shit, it's work, I've gotta get back to the hotel and take a conference call," she rushed, scooping her files into her briefcase. 

"It's fine," Felicity assured her, stooping in her chair to pick up a wayward piece of paper.

"Alright, the nurses have my mobile number and the room at the motel if you need me," Laurel shouldered her handbag and leaned to kiss Felicity on the cheek. 

"Mhmm, bye."

Felicity watched the sun dance on the horizon for longer she expected it to. The green of DC was warmed by the reds and purples of the late spring sun.

She was so deep in thought and admiration of the beautiful world outside that she didn't hear Oliver stir.

"Felicity?" he croaked, "How long have I been out of it?"

"A few hours," she was out of the chair and beside the bed before she'd finished.

She put a hand on his forearm to settle him, noticing he'd made to reach for her.

"What is this?" he asked, lifting his head and observing himself tugging at the restraints around the extremities of all his limbs.

"You, um," Felicity cleared her throat and tucked her hair behind her ear, "you got a bit violent, so they sedated and restrained you."

"Violent?" his voice broke.

"Yeah," she nodded, her bottom lip quivering, "everyone is okay though."

"What did I do?"

"Oh, Oliver," she exhaled heavily, "I think you just thought you were somewhere else."

"What did I do?"

"You pushed Dig over, punched a doctor..."

"And?"

"You, um, you lifted me up and pinned me against a wall, split my stitches," she shrugged.

Oliver looked stunned and tears formed in his eyes. Again, he made a move to touch her face. When he realised he couldn't, he began to panic.

"Please," he begged, "please get these off me."

"Ssh, it's okay," she wiped the tears from his face.

"Felicity," he pleaded.

"Come on," she cupped his face and made him look at her, "you gotta calm down, Oliver, otherwise they're going to come back in here and sedate you again."

"But please, Felicity, please, I need these off, I can't," he cried, flailing against his restraints.

“Hey, stop," she soothed, "stop."

Oliver lashed out a little more but then stopped, a guttural sob echoing in the room. 

She rushed to undo the restraints on one of his wrists. As she leaned across to undo the other one, Oliver placed a hand on her hip, making her wince from the pressure.

“I’m sorry,” he cried.

"You're okay, ssh, come on Oliver, I'm here, I'm not going anywhere," she rambled for as long as she could without taking a breath, pressing the button to raise the head of Oliver’s bed. She took her time undoing the cuffs on his ankles.

He was still tired, she could tell, he was sighing a lot. They weren’t the type of contended sighs that came as a person dozed off, but irritated ones that came from a person who didn’t want to fall asleep.

Oliver was still bawling, coughing, sniffing. It was an Oliver she’d never seen before. He’d never been as openly emotional in the entire time she’d known him. She’d seen him angry, seen him scared, but never had she seen him completely inconsolable. 

She wiped the free flowing tears from his face with her thumbs, nodding reassuringly every time he opened his eyes.


	32. Love is Wasted on Lovers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's only so many time you can rework a chapter, rewrite conversations and remove bits that don't work.
> 
> I'm SUPER unsure about this chapter, I feel like it doesn't work. In fact, I KNOW it doesn't work, but I feel it is an important one. It's not my best piece of writing, it's clunky, but I needed to just get it out there otherwise this fic will have been in limbo forever.

If you asked Lieutenant Commander Thomas Merlyn what he planned to say to his best friend, he’d have drawn a blank several times over.

So, when he found himself standing in the doorway of Oliver’s hospital room he simply reached up, knocked on the door and offered the most casual “Hey” he’d ever heard in his entire life.

Oliver was grinning before he even looked up.

“Thomas Merlyn,” Oliver sat up and swung his legs over the side of his bed, “where the hell have you been?”

“Ah, you know, commanding a ship, nothing of note,” Tommy shrugged and strode over to where Oliver had slowly risen to his feet. He crashed into him, wrapping his arms tightly around Oliver’s chest.

“Not too tight,” Oliver winced, causing Tommy to relent, but only a little.

“Take a seat,” Oliver pointed to the vinyl chair.

Tommy flopped down, still with a stupidly wide grin on his face while Oliver eased himself back onto the bed.

Oliver cleared his throat and looked down at the floor. It took a few minutes for Tommy to realise he was crying. Crying and too proud to let him see. 

“Buddy,” Tommy sprung out of the seat and sat close to Oliver.

“Fuck you, Tommy, fuck you for not being there,” Oliver spat through his sobs.

Tommy sat, jaw clenched tight, and let his friend unload.

“Fuck you for not wanting to talk about our first deployment, fuck you for assigning my SEAL team to this op, fuck you for assigning Felicity to my team and fuck you for not being there.”

Tommy had a hand reached around Oliver’s shoulders, rubbing a soothing circle with his thumb. 

“You’re right,” Tommy shrugged, “You’re right, fuck me for not being there, man, fuck me for not being able to get back into the teams because I can’t deal with operations anymore, fuck me for not being able to overcome with my PTSD as well as you did.”

Oliver tried to silence his sobs with a hand over his mouth. 

“I don’t think I can come back from this one, Tommy,” his muffled confession had Tommy straining to hear.

“Of course you can, you can talk to people about it, Diggle, Roy, they’ll be up for it, Felicity…”

“Felicity hates me.”

“Ah, dude,” Tommy pulled his hand away, clasping his fingers in his lap, “I hate to break it to you, but Felicity Smoak’s feelings for you are the furthest from hate that exist.”

Oliver used his palms to wipe the tears from his face.

“I can’t talk about what happened to us,” Tommy insisted, “but you can talk about what happened to you, to all of you, with her. She’s the toughest, scariest, little blonde that I’ve ever come across.”

“She’s terrifying,” Oliver whispered.

Tommy nodded. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“Her?”

“Yeah.”

“I’m not sure,” Oliver shrugged.

“I think,” Tommy started, “I think there comes a time in our lives when it’s stops being just about us, singular. It starts being about other people, other people that we maybe want to make a different us, plural, with.”

“I just, I need her to not judge me,” Oliver sniffed.

“What makes you think she’ll judge you? Has she judged you before?”

“Never,” Oliver’s voice was a strangled whisper.

“Then, Oliver,” Tommy threw his hands out in question, “what is the problem?”

Oliver shrugged.

“I get that you have been in pain so long that it probably just feels normal now,” Tommy chided, “but you can let it go and go home, go home to someone who understands.”

“I can’t see myself, you know, becoming functional again, Roy, he’s so messed up, Tommy,” Oliver sighed. “I feel like it’s my fault, I convinced him to join, we both did, and now they’re medically discharging him, he’s scarred for life, and my sister, I’ve ruined this for her too.”

“Oliver.”

“Those were three days!” Oliver exploded, “THREE DAYS! Where nothing good happened, Tommy!”

Tommy glanced down at the floor. “We had five months of nothing good happening, Oliver. Diggle, Roy, Felicity, they are trying so hard to act like nothing is wrong because they can see how hard it is for you. But they, Roy especially, are in a world of mental hurt.”

“Felicity is angry at me,” Oliver sighed.

“Of course she is!” Tommy was more than exasperated, “She needs you! You’ve been ignoring that!”

“Tom-”

“No!” Tommy’s voice was strangled, “I don’t know how you can’t see it, Oliver! The four of you are in this together. Forever. Whether you like it or not.”

“WE,” Oliver gestured between himself and his best friend, “were in it together. Forever. As well.”

“All right, Oliver, you need to calm down.”

“I need you to understand that I’m hurting!” Oliver spat.

“I do,” Tommy’s voice was low, “and I know what it's like to want someone but not be able be with them.”

“I want things to be different, Tommy,” Oliver’s voice was barely above a whisper now, “but they can't.”

“Yeah, they can,” Tommy argued.

“I can’t be with her, I can’t be with anyone.”

“So you’re going to be alone? Dude, that is a truly terrible idea.”

Oliver’s jaw was working and Tommy took it as his queue to leave. He stood up, replaced his cap and, after squeezing Oliver’s shoulder, turned to leave. 

“Oh,” Tommy turned back, “My parents’ property way out in Mt Pleasant? It’s empty at the moment, I need a days notice to get it organised, but it’s there if you guys want it.”

Oliver glared at him.

“I’m just saying,” Tommy held his hands up defensively. 

-

Tommy turned to leave and Oliver let him go. He wasn’t going to beg him to stay, beg him to sit there and listen to him actively avoid talking about his feelings.

He was embarrassed by his behaviour with both Tommy and Felicity.

He was embarrassed that he’d all but completely lost his mind earlier in the week in front of Felicity. The truth was, he barely remembered any of it. He vaguely recalled her soft hand on his cheek, her soothing, cooing words, he must have been crying. A lot. He must have been sobbing, bawling, if the look on her face was anything to go by. There was pity, concern, anxiety. But the one that stood above all the rest was certainly love. Or as close to love as Felicity was capable of right now. 

Oliver knew that there was certainly something more than just this tragedy that was drawing them together. It had been there before, and it was still there. Stronger, but slightly fractured. Screamingly obvious, but too tender a subject. 

He pushed himself up, steadying himself with one hand still on the bed. He took a few steps, coasting towards the table he had eaten his lunch at earlier. The plastic tray was still there, as was most of the food on his plate. He had struggled to eat when he was recovering from the trauma of his first tour and it was happening again. 

Leaning heavily on the table, he rocked back and forth on his heels, trying to calm himself, convince himself that he was okay, something that he was obviously not doing a good enough job of for other people.

He slammed his fists on the table and then, with a sweep of one arm, sent the contents scattering across the room.

“Are you okay?” Roy’s shaking voice made Oliver look towards the doorway.

“Not really.”

Oliver studied Roy. He was leaning heavily on a walking frame, his arms shaking from holding himself up and pushing himself along.

“Are you okay?” he returned the question.

“Not really,” Roy replied, his shoulders rising and falling at the triviality of the question.

They held eye contact for a minute, Roy’s jaw line pulsing, a trait Oliver recognised as one of his own. There were unshed tears in his blue eyes, and he looked terrified.

“Roy,” Oliver started, his voice thick, “have you ever been to South Carolina?”

 

Felicity wanted nothing more than to go through her rehab program, build up her fitness and get back to work. But orders had come through from Lieutenant Commander Merlyn that the four of them, along with Thea, Lyla, and Holly, were to spend a week at his holiday house in Mount Pleasant, on the Wando River. 

Literal “Do you copy, Sailor?” orders.

So, three days after Roy had finally been discharged from hospital, they all made their way there.

Due to medical appointments all afternoon, she and Oliver had arrived late one night, the sky was dark but a giant moon was out. Felicity had stumbled up the steps because she had been so distracted by its size and closeness. Oliver had steadied her, asked her if she was okay with a small but beautifully genuine smile on his face. It was the most contact and conversation they had had in the past five hours. 

The drive from Mayport had been so quiet Felicity had considered reciting her after action report to Oliver. She was willing to relive everything for a little bit of noise in the car. They’d stopped for food and coffee twice and, with Oliver being unable to drive, Felicity had to force herself to stay awake, while Oliver pretended to sleep in the passenger seat.

The door opened before Oliver could knock and Thea’s ever smiling face greeted them. Lyla was standing just behind her, ready to help them carry in their weekender bags. 

They moved through the expanse of the house to the back porch where Roy and Diggle were watching the moon light on the water. Roy jumped at Felicity’s shadow looming over him and, after she had managed to contain her tears, Felicity sat down next to him and held his hand, resting her head on his shoulder.

"Hey Abercrombie," she whispered.

"Hey Blondie," he squeezed her hand.

General chatter meant they all stayed up quite late. Diggle and Lyla had spent a bit of time putting Holly down but were now seating close on the swing seat. Felicity had moved to a single chair, allowing Thea to sit near Roy. In the end, they'd had been the first to go to bed. It was a long, slow process, helping Roy up the stairs, assuring him the room was clear, and confirming that there was nobody hidden in the closet. Diggle and Lyla went next, though they would be up on and off through the night with Holly. 

“I’m sorry, Felicity,” Oliver had spoken so softly that she almost couldn’t hear him over the cicadas chirping in the dark.

She turned to where he was sitting, his feet up on the railing, reclined back in a double lounge. He portrayed a sense of relaxation and calm, but his whole body was twitching with anxiety. 

Felicity did nothing but adjust the hooded sweatshirt around her shoulders. 

“I’m sorry that I can’t be what you need me to be, I’m sorry that you’re hurting and that I can’t fix it and that I’m a jerk.”

“You don’t have to be sorry, Oliver.”

“I do,” he contradicted in such a way that Felicity knew it was hard for him to admit.

Felicity got up and moved to sit next to him. He made to scramble into an upright position, but Felicity placed a tender hand on his chest as she mirrored his position, snuggling into his side.

It took a few minutes but Oliver eventually relaxed. His taut body melting into her as she threw one of her legs over his to get more comfortable. 

“You must be tired,” she whispered.

Oliver hummed.

“You can sleep if you need to. You can be a jerk if you need to. We’ll get through this, Oliver.”

He hummed again.

The two of them would eventually doze off, Oliver playing with a ringlet at the nape of Felicity’s neck, Felicity playing with a loose thread on the side seam of Oliver’s tshirt.

Oliver’s last thought came with a contented sigh. Maybe this ‘plural’ idea of Tommy’s wasn’t such a bad one. 

 

The week spent at Tommy’s holiday house was therapeutic to them all. The pool was a relief, not only from the heat, but from the ache in their joints that the heat bought. The girls would help the boys dress their still healing wounds with water proof dressings and they would bob around in the water on inner tubes for hours. The weight off their damaged bodies and minds. 

They were regularly woken by screams and cries, often Holly’s, but sometimes Roy’s. Diggle would pace up and down the hallway, cradling the tiny girl, coaching Thea into helping calm Roy down. Felicity had fallen asleep in bed next to Roy one night, Thea had been beyond exhausted and Roy was having a particularly rough night.

Roy had apologised, profusely, over and over, timid and embarrassed by his inability to settle. 

“It is okay, Roy,” she had told him sternly, his hand gently clasped in her own. 

Oliver had gently coaxed Felicity awake a few hours later. He’d help her to her feet, her limbs still heavy with sleep. Thea had slipped into the bed quickly, hoping that Roy would not wake, alerted by the short absences of a warm body. In the dark hallway, Oliver, with Felicity twisted around his arm, had guided her to his bedroom. 

On one of the days, Oliver had squirmed when Felicity rolled up the leg of his board shorts to redress the shrapnel wound on his leg. He did not have full dexterity back in hands and therefore couldn’t handle the intricate cleaning and remedying of what was bound to be an ugly, twisted scar.

“Do not pity me,” his voice was steady, even though his hands were not. 

“I don’t,” Felicity confirmed. “I worry about you, but I do not pity you.”

And then, still with shaking hands, he reached for her face, cupping her cheeks so delicately and pulling her level with him to place a gently kiss on her lips.

“I heard you talking to Tommy a few weeks ago,” Felicity said so abruptly that her hot breath pushed into Oliver’s mouth, their lips still touching.

“Felic-”

“You said you couldn’t be with me, couldn’t be with anyone,” she whispered, pulling away slowly, “I keep getting mixed messages from you, last night, just then, you seem to momentarily convince yourself that you can be with me and then, when you think about it for too long, you seem to think you can’t, and then you ignore me, it’s not fair. It hurts.”

Oliver forced himself to breathe, to keep breathing, despite the panic clenching at his chest that was driving his breathing to become pronounced, short and laboured.

Felicity was not easily confused. Her time in the military taught her to work through confusion rationally, start at the root of the problem and work out the details along the way. Her general nature meant that she didn't like problems to remain unsolved.

But with Oliver, logic went out the window. The problem solving skills that had served her so well were nowhere to be found. 

She considered Oliver for a moment, one hand still on his bandaged leg, the other moved to his chest.

“It’s okay if you can’t be with me,” she nodded, “but please don’t be alone. It’s such an awful place to be.”


	33. I Am the American Sailor

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's not too much I want to say, other than there are only two (maybe three, if I write an epilogue type thing) left. The end has come along faster than I thought it would! 
> 
> Thank you to everyone who is reading and everyone who is commenting!!

Six weeks later the four of them attended their court marshal hearing. Felicity was still without the full range of movement in her shoulder, Diggle was still moving painfully, Roy was in a wheelchair, battling an infection, still easily fatigued and Oliver, as stubborn as ever and despite his leg still not being 100%, was insistent upon walking into the room.

"Did you check that all attackers were armed before firing your weapon?"

"No, sir," Felicity leaned forward, "in the beginning, I did, complying with the rules of engagement for this operation, but it came to a point where pausing to check the enemy for firearms would have jeopardised our location and lives."

"So there is a chance that one or more of the men you fired upon, and subsequently killed, may have been unarmed?"

"Sir."

"You admit that there was a disregard for the rules of engagement?"

"Our lives were threatened. Petty Officer Third Class Roy Harper and Lieutenant Oliver Queen had already been gravely injured, it was no longer a case of upholding the rules of engagement, rather, ensuring the survival of the team," she replied. Her face was impassive but inside, she was beginning to feel panicked.

“And Lieutenant Queen? What was his view on your situation?”

“He wanted to get us home, sir, it came to the point where we were not in constant communication, our comms were broken, it was a life or death situation.”

“So, for all you know, Lieutenant Queen might have been telling you to hold your fire?”

Felicity shook her head, “No, sir. We made a strong contact with our friends from the other side.”

“Friends?”

“We engaged fighters that we believed were fighting in support of the Taliban. I had visual contact with Queen, Diggle and Harper and they were all engaging the enemy.”

“I’m sorry, Petty Officer, I’m a little confused, were they your friends or your enemies.”

“They were Taliban fighters, sir.”

“So you had to kill them?”

“To ensure our survival, yes.”

“What about when Lieutenant Oliver Queen lost consciousness? What were your thoughts on the situation?”

“Lieutenant Queen was Command Control, he spoke to Diggle and me before we treated his injuries, he said to do what we had to do in order to get home.”

“So, the LT gave you permission to break the rules of engagement?”

“He told us to use our own initiative,” Felicity avoided giving a yes or no answer, “but of course, the rules of engagement were still something to be followed.”

“You killed at least two insurgents in between Sargent Diggle’s call to HQ and the CSAR team arriving to your position.”

“Sounds about right, sir.”

“They were armed?”

“Yes, sir.”

"You seem to show no remorse for killing those Taliban members in the Afghan hills?"

"No remorse?" She spat in disbelief. "I still see every single face of the men that I shot during those three days, every single day, every single face. Not only that, but I am constantly reminded of how serious this whole situation was. The injuries I suffered are still hanging around, they almost amputated by leg from the hip down, Roy and Oliver almost died, Dig has lowered kidney function. Every time I close my eyes I see Oliver having a seizure, or Roy gasping for breath or Diggle slumped on the ground, I have all the remorse in the world."

"Your honour," her JAG lawyer, Sebastien, stood up.

"That'll do," the judge chided at the lawyer interrogating her. "Both sides approach."

Felicity sat back in her seat and let out a long, trembling sigh. She caught Oliver's eye and he smiled encouragingly at her. She felt the corners of her mouth pull up slightly in return.

"You okay?" He mouthed, his eyebrows drawing together in concern.

She nodded.

"You can step down now, Petty Officer," the judge turned to her.

 

"I wanna leave, sir," Roy spoke up. The fingers on his good hand were working against his palm as he stared off at an invisible threat. 

"Just a second, Roy," Oliver soothed, and turned back to their lawyer. 

"No," he spat, "now." 

His hands were shaking, if it was from fear or just barely contained anger, Felicity couldn't be sure. She put a hand on Oliver's arm, explaining without interrupting that she would take Roy to the car. Oliver nodded mid-sentence and placed a hand in Felicity's, squeezing it softly.

Felicity awkwardly pushed Roy's chair out the front of the court rooms, the sunlight warming her face.

Thea was waiting at the top of the stairs and, upon seeing the two of them exit, rushed over, the staccato of her heels sounding like tinny machine gun fire. 

"Are you okay?" She squatted down in front of Roy, one hand on his arm, the other on his thigh.

"Yeah, I just, I gotta get outta here," he sighed, rubbing his face.

"Alright," Thea nodded and stood up, Felicity stepping out from behind the wheelchair.

"He probably needs to rest," Felicity whispered.

Thea squeezed her hand."Are you okay?"

"I'm getting there," Felicity assured her.

"You look like you could do with a rest, too."

"Probably," Felicity smiled weakly.

"I might take him back to the van," Thea nodded, "do you wanna come or...?"

"I'll head back inside," Felicity thumbed over her shoulder.

"Alright," Thea lent forward and kissed her cheek.

"See you in a little bit," she kissed back, then put a hand on Roy's shoulder and kissed the side of his head, "you go and rest in the van, we won't be long."

"Yes ma'am, thank you, ma'am," his voice wavered.

“Oh,” Thea gently grabbed Felicity’s arm, “Helena is here.”

Felicity faltered slight. 

Helena. The gorgeous brunette that Oliver had taken a liking to. He had heeded Felicity’s advice to not be alone. Very well. Helena was the second woman that Oliver had been with since their week in South Carolina. Felicity was sure that she wouldn’t be the last.

She was also sure that she was an idiot in suggesting Oliver shouldn’t be alone. Because now she most definitely was.

Oliver was still very tactile with her, very attentive, but still held back on a lot of things. 

It was an unspoken military peculiarity that you greeted friends with a kiss on the cheek. And Oliver would. Thea, Lyla, Laurel. But Felicity had been sidelined. She's get a smile, if that. 

But in crowds, which weren’t her favourite thing anymore, probably not his either, she would feel him brush past her, and fingers would skim her elbow, a hand would press firmly into her lower back, or she would feel his warm breath expelled onto the back of neck.

She wanted to call him on it, she did, but everyone was dealing with this is their own way. If that was his, so be it.

“Felicity?” Thea was repeating her name.

“Sorry, yes, Helena, here, thanks for letting me know.”

 

In the conference room next door to the court room, Felicity found Oliver, Diggle and Sebastien sat with the judge and the other lawyer.

She entered quietly and sat down next to Oliver.

“What’s happening?” she whispered, not being able to catch up.

“They’re going to dump the case, the judge is saying that we did nothing wrong, there is no actual evidence that any of the Talis were unarmed, I think we’re all clear,” he whispered back.

Felicity nodded.

“Petty Officer Smoak?” the judge spoke up from the other end of the table.

“Your honour?”

“I have reviewed your after action reports, as well as taken in to consideration your testimony today,” he explained, “I do not need to hear from Sargent Diggle, Lieutenant Queen or Petty Officer Harper, I have ruled, out of court, that there was no dereliction of duty, nor did you abandon the rules of engagement. Your case is dismissed.”

“Thank you, sir,” Felicity nodded, grabbing Oliver’s hand.

“I’ll also be recommending to Lieutenant Commander Merlyn that you are nominated and receive a Medal of Honour for your actions in Khost Province over those three days.”

“Oh, no, your honour, that is not necessary,” Felicity shook her head. 

“The paperwork is already in motion,” he clarified.

“But I don’t want it, I don’t want to be honoured for something that keeps me up at night,” Felicity pressed.

And that was the truth. She wanted to prove her fitness and get back to work. She didn’t need to added attention of a blue ribbon on her uniform. She didn’t agree with being awarded this medal for surviving something that 29 other men didn’t, with three men who might not ever get back to work. 

Oliver squeezed her hand to make her look at him. Her blue eyes flicked from the judge to Oliver and back again.

“Hey,” Oliver whispered, “it’s what they want, go with it.”

 

By the time they got back to the van, Roy was asleep with his head in Thea's lap. Diggle stretched out on the backseat. As he climbed in, Oliver kissed the side of Thea’s head and slid in to the seat behind them. Felicity gently lowered herself next to Oliver, who glanced over at her and offered a small smile.

The two hour long drive back to base was silent, save for the driver fiddling with the radio. 

Diggle had fallen asleep almost instantly and Thea dozed off with her hand under her chin. Felicity was aware of Oliver fighting against the pull of sleep. He was fidgeting, clearing his throat, pinching the bridge of his nose. His head would drop, then snap up, eyes opened wide. 

With the arm that was furthest from Oliver, she reached across and touched his arm. 

"Relax," she whispered.

He softened instantly against her hand and lent towards the window, placing his forehead on the glass. She drew circles around his elbow with her thumb. He took in a deep breath and let it out shakily. 

"Are you in pain?" She whispered.

"No," he sighed.

As Oliver dozed off, the hand on his thigh slipped slowly in between them. 

Felicity moved to gently place it back on his thigh, but his fingers curled around her thumb and she couldn't pull away without using some force. 

She put her other hand on top of his and listened to the soft snores of everyone around her, feeling the occasional twitch of Oliver's hand in hers.

His lips were parted slightly, a small whimper escaping. His eyebrows were drawn together until she ran her hand up and down his arm. His whole face relaxed and he looked like he was sleeping peacefully, despite the dark smudges under his eyes.

Her hand was numb when they finally got to the main gate. She tapped Thea on the shoulder to wake her up and then reached behind her to lightly squeeze Diggle's leg.   
Thea was cooing Roy awake as the navy cop shone his torch into the back of the van. Felicity gently unclipped Oliver's ID and held it out, along with her own, to the PO3.

"Thank you ma'am," he passed it back to her after ID matching the two of them.

The slamming of the sliding door made Oliver jump and he was ready for action.  
"Stand down, lieutenant," Diggle spoke.   
"You're okay," Felicity assured him.  
He glanced down at their hands and back up at her. He nodded and adjusted his jacket with his spare hand. He let go of her thumb and re-threaded his fingers between hers. 

When Felicity looked up Thea was smiling knowingly over the back of her seat.

Oliver put his head back up against the window, his leg bouncing nervously under their joined hands. She squeezed his hand and he settled. 

"Unaccompanied housing?" the driver called over his shoulder. 

Diggle shifted to the door, opening it and sliding into the humid night air. He held a hand out and Felicity took it, effortlessly sliding from Oliver's grasp. Oliver had to stand up fully in order to step out of the van and needed both Diggle and Felicity to help him. They both supported him with a hand around his back and a hand on his ribs. Once Oliver was on the ground, Diggle moved to get back in the car. Oliver kept his arm around Felicity's shoulders and she kept her arm around his waist. 

"I'll see you two in the morning," Diggle nodded.

"Sick bay at 11?" Felicity asked.

"Roy's appointment is at 10.30," Thea spoke up from the dark interior of the van.

"Alright, Fat Boy truck for lunch?" Felicity asked.

"You bet," Diggle grinned, "Night, guys."

"Night, Dig," Felicity smiled as he closed the door.

Felicity and Oliver crossed the parking lot to the elevator that serviced the right wing. 

"You okay after today?" Oliver asked as they stopped out the front of Felicity's cabin.

"Sir," she acknowledged with a nod.

"You are remarkable."

"Thank you for remarking on it," she smiled sleepily.

He cupped her face then, running his thumb over the nearly invisible scar on her cheek. Then he lent in and kissed the top of her head.

"Don't let the bastards get you down," he whispered into her hair.


	34. Heart in Wire

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a little chapter for dancerfruit. I hope it fulfills your desires!
> 
> And a special thanks to Dom (Nightkeepyr) for helping me put into words what I wanted to say how Oliver and Felicity's physical interactions.

When Oliver knocked on Felicity's door the next morning, he was surprised when it didn't fling open straight away. Normally, when they had appointments, he would come to collect her and she would be waiting just the other side of the door.

"Felicity?" He knocked harder this time, "Felicity, open the door!"

He tried the handle, finding her room unlocked. As the door creaked open, he realised the room was still dark. There were no lights on and the curtains weren't open. He called her name softly, once, then twice. Then panic rose in his chest.

The breathless cough that came from the small lump under the covers was the first indication that something was not quite right. The second was the slick of sweat on her skin that he felt when he peeled away the heavy blanket.

It was only when he turned a light on and she shied away from it that he saw the tiny purple dots in the whites of her eyes.

"Fuck, Felicity," he turned the light back off and gently turned her head back towards him. "What's going on?"

She grumbled a little, turning into his hand, reaching for him blindly. He grabbed her hand and held it to his chest, pulling his phone out of his pocket.

"Mayport Medical, this is Sub Lieutenant Hoskings," a cheery female voice answered after the first ring.

"Hoskings, this is Lieutenant Queen, I'm with Petty Officer Smoak in her room and there is something very wrong.”

He heard quick key strokes before, "Okay, sir, you guys are over at unaccompanied housing?"

"Yes."

"Is she breathing?"

"With difficulty."

"We'll send an ambulance."

The five minutes it took for the ambulance to get there was absolute agony for Oliver. He sat Felicity up, cradling her against him. Her breath was hitching, like she couldn’t quite breathe deeply enough. One of her small hands was bunched in a fist around his t-shirt, the other rested lifelessly across her stomach. She fidgeted and squirmed, whimpering, unable to get comfortable. He realised her wriggling was shivering and he reefed the blanket out from underneath him, throwing it around her and tucking it under her feet.

“You’re okay,” he whispered into his hair.

“Oliver?” she asked so weakly that he had to stifle a sob that threatened to explode from his chest.

“Right here,” he eventually assured her.

The two female medical officers only hung around long enough to press a stethoscope to her chest, set an IV in her arm and put an oxygen mask over her face. They spoke in rushed, muted tones, listing tests that she would require upon arrival.

“What is it?” Oliver asked.

“Sir, she appears to have an unexplainable heart murmur, so we’re going to take her to run some tests,” one of them explained briefly and then turned to Felicity, “we can’t get a stretcher up here, you’re going to have to walk.”

“I can’t,” she sobbed.

“I’ll take her,” Oliver stepped between the two officers.

“Sir,” one of them spoke up, “that’s not a good idea, your injuries…”

Oliver held a hand up, demanding their silence.

“I’ll take her,” he said, more authoritatively this time.

He picked her up, not expecting her to be as light she was. He made sure her head was resting comfortably against his neck as the two officers helped him juggle the bag of saline and untangle the tube attached to the oxygen mask.

Oliver, ignoring the pain in his knee and upper leg, walked slowly but steadily to the elevator, feeling every breathless sob expelled from Felicity’s failing body against his neck.  
He would have run out of the elevator to the ambulance if his body allowed him, but instead, he held pace with the two medical officers in tow. They directed him to lay Felicity down on the stretcher in the back of the ambulance, but he refused. He sat down on the thin mattress and leaned back against the side, still holding Felicity to him.

“Do what you have to do,” he challenged them.

“You’re going to have to lay her down when we get to the medical centre,” one of them chided as the other climbed into the cab and started the engine.

“Fine, but until then…”

“Yes, sir.”

Once they arrived at the medical centre, Oliver stepped down from the back of the ambulance and waited for the young midshipman to join him. His leg was hurting him as he strode forward, and it took him a minute to realise that a doctor was directing him to lay Felicity on a waiting stretcher. 

“Ollie?” came Thea’s rattled voice.

He turned to her as the wheeled Felicity away. 

“Thea,” he breathed.

“What’s going on? She was fine yesterday!”

“She’s really sick, Thea,” Oliver shrugged, his chest tightening dramatically.

“Ollie?” Thea questioned again.

Oliver’s hearing dulled, his vision went splotchy and, oddly rational, he realised he was hyperventilating. 

-

“Ollie?” Thea questioned, touching his arm gently. 

He seemed to look straight past her, his breath quickening to the point of hyperventilation swiftly. He swayed slightly, and Thea, unconsciously trying to protect her nearly 28 weeks sized belly, stepped back as he fell to his knees and almost instantly collapsed on his side.

“Help!” she screamed, ungracefully dropping to her knees, stroking Oliver’s face. His heaving breathing subsided quickly, but he was still unconscious. “Ollie,” she whispered.

“He just collapsed?” a familiar faced nurse was kneeling beside her in an instant.

“Uh, yeah, I think he had a panic attack,” Thea explained.

The nurse nodded, clicked at someone over her shoulder and they were sitting Oliver up gently, letting him rest back against one of the nurses.

“Ollie,” she kept repeating, picking up his limp hand, rubbing her thumb over his knuckles.

There were tears dancing on his lower lashes as soon as he opened his eyes. He looked around hazily, finally leveling his gaze at Thea.

“Speedy?” his voice was hoarse.

“You’re okay,” she nodded.

“Felicity!” his arms flailed as he tried to sit up straight and rise to his feet.

“Easy does it, sir,” said one of the nurses.

Oliver let his body fall back against the chest of the nurse, sighing helplessly, his eyes closing in defeat. There was movement around them, things being put in to play to move Oliver to a bed to relax.

The same nurse from before, Dom, if Thea’s memory serves her correct, knelt down beside her and put a gentle hand on her arm.

“We’re going to move him to a cubicle to rest,” she explained, “The doctors are nearly done seeing Roy. If you want to hang around, I’ll find out what I can about Felicity as soon as I can and let you know.”

Thea nodded and Dom stood up, offering Thea her hands.

“Thanks,” Thea grunted as she pushed down on Dom’s hands to get to her feet. Once upright, she clasped her hands under her belly and walked over to a chair.

A timid Petty Officer appeared in front of her, almost buzzing, with a plastic cup of water. She accepted it and took a small sip to show her gratitude.

The orderlies were lifting a compliant Oliver onto a bed and she smiled faint-heartedly at him. He offered her a tentative finger wave as a blanket was thrown over him and he was wheeled away.

-

Oliver startled himself awake, his vision blurry, his chest sore.

“Hey, Ollie,” Thea’s voice made him roll over.

“What happened?” he blinked a few times.

“You just worked yourself up,” she reached for his hand.

His gulped, flashing back to Bethesda when he had hurt Felicity. “What did I do?”

“Nothing,” Thea rushed to assure him, “you did nothing, you just collapsed, you had a panic attack.”

“And Felicity?” he asked, embarrassed by the shake in his voice.

Thea pulled a piece of paper, covered in her beautiful cursive, from her handbag.

“It’s not good, but it’s not bad,” she explained, smoothing out the paper in her lap. “She’s got a strain of endocarditis caused by staphylococcus aureus. The doctors seem to think that when you guys had blood drawn a few days ago, the needle they used for Felicity was not sterile and, as a result, the bacteria traveled to her heart.”

“What?” Oliver’s eyebrows drew together.

“She has a golden staph infection in the inner lining of her heart, it can damage the valves, resulting in the symptoms that you saw this morning. They think that the stress of the hearing yesterday probably escalated what her body should have been able to fight off,” Thea read slowly, allowing Oliver to comprehend.

“What are they doing to help her?” Oliver sat up.

“She’s on IV antibiotics, will be for at least a week, they might have to operate-”

“On her heart?”

“Yes, but Ollie, that’s the worst case scenario, she’s a tough little thing,” Thea assured him.

Oliver concentrated on his breathing as he touched his fingers to his thumb, one after the other, closing his eyes and praying to whatever deity existed.

“Dig, Lyla, and Roy are in with her now, do you want to go see her?”

Oliver nodded, sliding off the side of the bed and helping Thea stand up.

“How are you?” he hugged her.

“Uncomfortably pregnant,” she laughed and they turned to leave the cubicle, Thea still tucked under Oliver’s arm.

“And the baby?” 

“She’s healthy.”

“She?”

Thea looked up at Oliver, grinning widely.

“Awesome,” Oliver smiled back at her. 

They reached Felicity’s room and Thea lingered at the door as Oliver walked in. Diggle stood up and moved away from the chair closest to her bed. He nodded at Oliver, patting him on the shoulder as he sat down.

“She was awake not long ago, but she’s tired, Oliver,” Roy spoke up from the other side of the bed, “she wanted to see you, wanted you not to worry, but she needed to sleep.”

“We might leave you to it,” Lyla stood up, in answer to the small grizzles coming from Holly’s baby capsule. She leaned over and kissed Oliver on the cheek, cupping his face, “you call if you need me.”

Oliver smiled and nodded, “Thank you.”

“Helena mentioned coming to have lunch with us today,” Diggle spoke up from behind him, “what do you want me to tell her?”

“Tell her,” Oliver paused after turning to face Diggle, “tell her that I had something important to deal with.”

Diggle nodded and followed the rest of them out of the room.

Oliver turned back to Felicity and touched his fingers to his lips. She appeared to be resting comfortably, despite the fact that the purple dots Oliver had seen in her eyes now littered her eyelids as well. She was pale, scarily pale and her hair line as damp and curly from sweat. 

He reached to place a hand on her forearm, only making her stir slightly. 

The strength he was able to draw from physical contact with her always surprised. When he came back from his first tour in Afghanistan, after those torturously long five months, he had shied away from anyone who tried to touch him. To him, contact could only mean one thing, pain. He was never a particularly touchy feely person from then on. So it was a revelation then, when Felicity’s touch championed him, calmed him, and he found that he had become a lot more tactile since meeting her. It was nice to know that a touch could be soft, gentle, loving, and pain free.

She had been so light when he picked her up earlier in the day. Even the recollection of the memory stirred something inside of him. Was she supposed to be that small? That fragile? She rolled away from him at that moment, and his fears were realised. Through the hospital gown tied loosely, he watched her back, the spine protruding, and thought that the last year must have been a lot more stressful that she let on. It made him feel like shit.

He ran his fingers down the bumps and she rolled back over. He snatched his hand away, looking down at the floor.

“Hey,” came her voice, husky and croaky. He looked up at her, her eyes bright with fever.

He smiled at her, a hand going to his chest in relief. 

“I guess I didn’t die, again,” she whispered. “Cool.”

Oliver huffed a laugh, shaking his head.

“I’m tired, Oliver,” she sighed.

“So sleep,” he rubbed her arm.

 

Felicity woke some time later, she wasn’t sure how long she had been out, to find Roy sitting close to her. 

He smiled at her, revealing two dimples that she hadn’t seen for a very long time.

She reached a hand out to him and he rushed to grab it.

“Where’s Oliver?” she asked, closing her eyes.

“Helena came by, they went to get some food,” Roy explained, distaste evident in his voice. 

Felicity hummed. “I’ve missed your face, Roy Harper.”

“You saw me yesterday, Felicity.”

She opened her eyes. “Your smiling face. You look like you again.”

It was true, despite looking exhausted, Roy looked healthier. For a while, his face had betrayed his 21 years. He looked old, weary and worn out. The ravages of war and the herculean effort of recovering from his wounds meant his round, young face was now carved into the face of a man, his innocence chiselled away. A couple of months out of hospital, surrounded by friends and family, had done him the world of good. His face, touched by the Florida sun, had filled out a little more, though the lines at the corners of his eyes were now a permanent fixture, as was the small patch of grey hair where he had hit his head. The dull, grey eyes that Felicity had looked in to for so long were now a brilliant blue, and the genuine smile that people were able to pull from him now made her heart swell.

“I almost feel like me again,” he assured her, “I have good days, I have bad days and then I have unbearable days, but they are few and far between.”

“We all do,” she assured him.

“Look, Blondie,” Roy leaned forward, a grimace tugging at the side of his mouth, “the guy is an idiot and, coming from me, that’s a huge statement to make. I don’t exactly support what he is doing, this whole flavour of the week thing, but you gotta admit that you kind of gave him permission to do it.”

“I’m not denying that I did,” Felicity was defensive, “but…”

“I know,” Roy squeezed her hand.

She closed her eyes again.

“Roy, I would never have forgiven myself if you didn’t make it,” she whispered.

“Same here, I don’t know what I would have done if you hadn’t pulled through,” his voice wavered. “I don’t know what I’ll do if you’re not okay.”

“I’ll be fine, I promise.”

 

It took two weeks for the antibiotics to rid Felicity’s heart of the infection that very nearly killed her. She was released from the medical centre on the proviso that she return for daily antibiotic injection for another week just to make sure. 

She never had a needle phobia before the bacteria ridden hypodermic needle had been pushed into the vein in her left arm. Now the mere sight of them had her sweating and nervous. 

“It’s natural to be scared of something that caused you injury,” the pathologist would coo at her every day.

She had been forced to start her rehabilitation work from the beginning, the two weeks bed rest robbing her of the small amount of fitness she’d built up. 

Everyone had been dealt a blow those two weeks, and it wasn’t just the fear of losing Felicity.

Diggle and Roy had both received their formal discharge from their respective military branches, both deemed medically unfit to return to service. Roy was also deemed mentally unfit to pursue a job for any other government identity. 

Oliver had been given some bad news in regards to his knee. The twisting and heavy landings he’d endured during his last deployment had destroyed the cartilage in his left knee, leaving him with bone on bone contact. It wasn’t painful yet, but it would be in months to come. He was allowed to return to work but informed that he would require surgery in the next 18 months.

It was a surprising relief then, when Felicity received a posting order effective a week from then. USS Chinook was to be in port for maintenance for the foreseeable future, but her expertise was required in the CIC for some important upgrades to the systems. Oliver was also return posted to Chinook, for duties and to take part in the Lieutenant Commander Promotions Course. 

She knew that it hurt Roy and Diggle to see them back at work, but she also knew that they were happy for them. It was better than nothing.

Maybe things would start looking up on all aspects soon enough.


	35. All I Can Think Of Is You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was really nice to write, I think that to finally recognise the four members of Team Arrow, it was about time. 
> 
> There's a little bit of angst but a nice funny scene at the end that, while doesn't fit in with this chapter, was something that I needed to include. Because my opinion on stop signs at Mayport needs to be heard!!! 
> 
> Thank you again to everyone who is reading, commenting, and leaving kudos. 
> 
> It's a wonderful feeling to know that this story has pleased so many people.

The service for the medal recipients was held, ironically, a year to the day that they were rescued. All four of them were to receive the Purple Heart for the injuries received in what had become known as the Battle of Turbine 42. Oliver, having originally received it after his first tour, was to collect a 5/16 inch star device to pin to the purple ribbon. It would be his second star. He would also receive a similar star for his Navy Cross, while Roy would receive his first commendation for the same award. Diggle was presented with the Distinguished Service Cross from the Army.

“Petty Officer First Class Felicity Meghan Smoak has been awarded the Medal of Honour for conspicuous gallantry and intrepidity at the risk of her life and above and beyond the call of duty as part of a special reconnaissance element with a Naval Special Warfare task unit in Afghanistan on 16, 17 and 18 August 2012,” the MC read.

“While taking part in a mission to locate a high-level anti-coalition militia leader, Petty Officer Smoak demonstrated extraordinary heroism in the face of grave danger in the vicinity of Tani, Khost Province, Afghanistan. On 17 August 2012, operating in an extremely rugged enemy-controlled area, Turbine 42 was shot from the sky by anti-coalition militia sympathizers. Petty Officer Smoak, along with Petty Officer Third Class Roy Harper, Lieutenant Oliver Queen and Sergeant John Diggle were the only survivors. Between 50 and 60 enemy fighters besieged the remaining members of the mixed spec ops team,” he explained.

Felicity stood, facing him, sidelong to the crowd, who were quiet and attentive to the story. Felicity was aware that very few of these medals were awarded to someone who was alive to accept them. She supposed that was cause for the massive turn out.

“Demonstrating exceptional resolve, Petty Officer Smoak valiantly took part in engaging the large enemy force. The ensuing fierce firefight resulted in numerous enemy casualties, as well as the wounding of all four members of the team. Ignoring her own wounds and demonstrating exceptional composure, Petty Officer Smoak continued to encourage and eventually lead the team. When the primary task force leader fell what was assumed to be near-mortally wounded, Petty Officer Smoak, in the face of almost certain death, fought her way across open ground to retrieve him.”

Just behind her, Oliver cleared his throat, making her squirm a little. She would rather not hear the whole story again, the embarrassment of having all the attention on her made her neck and face flush with red.

“This deliberate, heroic act deprived her of cover, exposing her to direct enemy fire. She also repeatedly attempted to call for assistance for her beleaguered teammates. Finally achieving contact with her headquarters, Petty Officer Smoak maintained her exposed position while she provided their location and requested immediate support for the team. She continued to engage the enemy until a CSAR team could be scurried together.”

An admiral, whose name Felicity was having trouble recalling, stepped up with a black velvet box, providing Felicity with some relief that the speech was almost over.

“By her selfless, unexpected assumption of leadership, Petty Officer Smoak reflected great credit upon herself and upheld the highest traditions of the United States Naval Service.”

The Admiral opened the box and handed it to his chief of staff, pulling the ribboned medal from its satin setting and placing it around Felicity’s neck.

“Good job, Petty Officer,” he whispered to her.

“Thank you, sir,” she offered a salute after he had adjusted the medal slightly.

He returned the salute and Felicity turned to take her place next to Oliver. He smiled at her as she turned around and she flashed a sad smile in return.

“Petty Officer First Class Heath Patton distinguished himself by extraordinary acts of heroism while serving as the Weapons Specialist in SEAL Team 7 Combined Joint Special Operations Task Force-Afghanistan during reconnaissance operations in Khost Province, Afghanistan on 15 August 2012,” the MC continued the ceremony.

Felicity felt her stomach knot automatically, smiling at Heath’s mother and father who were waiting at the bottom of the stairs.

“While conducting a combat reconnaissance patrol Petty Officer Patton and his small element of U.S. SEAL and Army soldiers were unexpectedly fired upon by a group of 3 insurgents occupying an unidentifiable utility truck and carrying a concealed RPG. Petty Officer Patton, upon realising that the RPG had been fired at his position, warned and pushed his spotter out of the way of the incoming grenade,” the all too real recount of what happened continued despite Felicity’s wish that it didn’t. “His extraordinary valour, his ultimate and selfless act of bravery that saw him mortally wounded, saved the life of a SEAL communication sailor. By his undaunted courage, intrepid fighting spirit, and unwavering devotion to duty, Petty Officer First Class Heath Patton gallantly gave his life for his country, thereby reflecting great credit upon himself and upholding the highest traditions of the Navy SEALs and the United States Naval Service.”

Deborah and Harvey Patton walked slowly up the stairs, Deborah’s face splotchy from tears. They shook the hand of the admiral and nodded acceptingly. The admiral saluted, as did all the service members on stage and in the crowd. 

Deborah turned to Felicity, who crashed into her open arms apologising and sobbing. 

“It’s okay,” Deborah assured her, as Harvey placed a hand on his wife’s back and then Felicity’s. 

“Our son’s sacrifice to save you meant that you saved these three men, and if that isn’t the most heart-warming thing to come out of this, then I don’t know what is,” Harvey’s voice broke as he spoke.

Felicity took a deep breath as she pulled away from Deborah. The tiny brunette lady, whose only gene Heath received was his big heart, thumbed a few tears off Felicity’s face.

“I’m so sorry,” Felicity sniffed.

“Stop it, you beautiful, young lady,” Deborah waggled a finger at her playfully, “I won’t hear that word once more out of your mouth.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Felicity stepped back, bumping into Oliver. The Lieutenant steadied her with a firm arm around her waist and a soft hand on her forearm. 

“Are you okay?” he whispered.

“Yes,” her voice only faltered slightly. 

His hand slipped from her waist to the small of her back as a photographer tried to catch everyone’s attention. 

“Just a couple for Stripes,” the photographer exclaimed, flashing his press card from the national military newspaper.

Felicity, with Oliver’s firm, open hand still pushed into her back, managed to smile as the flashes of light nearly blinded her. The warmth of his palm spread right through her and, just as definitely as it had been there for a few minutes, it was gone.

They filed down the stairs and Oliver turned to offer his hand to her. She accepted, tentatively, and was not at all surprised that his grip remained tight even after her feet touched the perfectly trimmed green grass.

“Are you okay?” he asked again.

“Mhmm,” she assured him, “you should go spend time with your family.”

“Is that what you want?” he asked.

The thoughts that came with the underlying question were endless and threw Felicity for six.

“What I want?” she spat.

Something happened, the world around them went blurry and, when the adrenaline kicked in, Felicity felt like she was dreaming.

“I wanted you, I want you,” she exclaimed. “I wanted to be able to talk to you about anything, everything, all the time, when either of us needed to, when neither of us wanted to! There is so much that I want, from this world, from you. I want Roy to be okay, I want Diggle to be happy, I want you. You don’t deserve to be this miserable, nobody does. I want to see you smiling, all the time, because god knows it’s my favourite thing. I want to be the one to make you smile. I wanted that to not sound cheesy, but Oliver, there is something between us, and it scares the hell out of me. But you don’t see that! And it’s my own stupid fault! I want to go back to Mount Pleasant and demand that you be with me, as psycho as that sounds. I want work to be less stressful, but at the same time, more exciting, nothing stacks up to Afghanistan, and it freaks me out that I miss being there, despite everything. I wanted Heath’s parents to not have to accept that award today. I want him here. I want a definitive answer on whether or not I can have a baby. I want to take this medal and shove it up Commander Steele’s ass. Or Captain Waller’s, I haven’t decided yet. I want a lot of things, Oliver, but more than anything, I wanted you to fight for me.”

“Felicity,” the tone in Oliver’s voice was not what she expected at the tail end of her rant. “Are you okay? You zoned out for a minute.”

“I…” her voice broke, “oh god!” Her hands flew up to her face, trying to cover the fact it had turned red hot with emotion and her eyes were stinging with tears. “I think I just need to be by myself.”

“Why?” his eyebrows creased, “Felicity, what’s the matter?”

He reached for her hand again.

“It’s nothing. I just got a little caught up with what you asked me. It’s been a while since I thought about it and I’m a little overwhelmed, but it’s nothing. I promise,” she rushed, untangling her hand from his and taking a step back. 

“I’m not leaving you like this.”

“I’m not like anything.” she laughed shakily.

“You clearly are.”

“Just, go find your family,” she was ready to sprint away from him, “I’m just emotional and I need time to myself.”

“I’ll come find you in a little while?”

She nodded.

He leaned in to kiss her cheek and turned away.

Felicity watched him go, trying to convince herself that she would not choke on the alarming lump in throat.

 

Felicity nursed the five pointed star medal in her hands, rubbing the light blue ribbon between her fingers. The Purple Heart medal was in its velvety box on the seat next to her.

“How does it feel?” she was aware of Tommy sitting next to her.

“Sateen-y, sir” she replied, distractedly.

Tommy gave a short laugh.

“It’s a bit over the top,” she shrugged, stuffing the medal in to the pocket of her sailor whites.

”’Conspicuous gallantry and intrepidity at the risk of life above and beyond the call of duty’,” Tommy quoted, “From what I’ve read and heard, that pretty much sums up your efforts over those three days.”

Felicity shrugged. “I just…”

“I know,” Tommy nodded.

“I’d trade it for… everything,” she looked at him.

“You’re not the first to say that,” he assured her.

“It seems ridiculous, I do one thing, and get this?” she put the medal back in its box and slammed it shut, throwing it beside her with the other one. “They give out purple hearts left, right and centre, most of the time they’re posthumous, this is such a ridiculous concept.”

“That’s the military for you, Felicity,” Tommy leaned forward, his elbows on his knees. “Are you sure you’re okay…?”

“Sir, if you or Oliver ask me that one more time…” she threatened.

“Sorry,” Tommy’s huffed a laugh and looked down at the grass between his feet.

Someone cleared their throat and the two of them looked up.

“Mind if I join you?” Oliver stood, his hands behind his back, awkwardly toeing a tuft of grass.

“We were having a moment,” Tommy gestured between himself and Felicity, a playful tone in his voice. He rose to his feet and opened his arms. Oliver smiled and hugged Tommy, giving him a vigorous pat on the back.

“Sir,” Felicity nodded at Oliver.

His smile faltered as he released Tommy from his tight embrace. 

“It’s a good thing you arrived when you did,” Tommy joked, turning around and clamping a hand on Oliver’s shoulder, “the Petty Officer here was threatening to, well, we never got that far, but there were threats.”

Felicity blushed and smiled at Tommy.

“How are you feeling, sir?” Felicity turned her attention to Oliver.

“Just dandy, Smoak,” Oliver smiled.

They were both aware of the need to tread carefully around each other. 

Felicity was the one who broke the eye contact, glancing past the two men and seeing Roy approaching with his care dog, Patton, a calm, loving Golden Retriever. She rose to her feet and hugged him when he was close enough.

“Congratulations, Felicity,” he smiled at her.

Felicity could only hug him again, a lump caught in her throat.

“Where’s Thea?” Oliver asked.

“Um,” Roy turned around, “coming.”

Felicity followed his gaze and saw Thea coming across the grass. Cindy, their very smart seven month old, was strapped to her front in a Baby Bjorn, gurgling and clapping her hands.

“Dadi!” she exclaimed when they were close enough for her to make out Roy, “Dadi, dadi, dadi!”

“Cindy-Lou!” he grinned and kissed her chubby hand.

Patton was sat at Roy’s feet, his tail wagging. 

Oliver put his arm around his sister’s shoulder.

“Tommy, Felicity, and I have to get back to the ship,” Oliver announced, “we have a few hours of work to do before we go on leave, but I’m sure we’ll see you at Holly’s birthday tomorrow?”

“Sure thing,” Thea nodded, bouncing Cindy when she squealed impatiently.

“All right,” Oliver kissed her cheek, then bent down so he was in Cindy’s eye line, “see you later, cheeky chops.”

Felicity gave Roy another hug and then moved towards Thea.

“See you tomorrow,” she hugged her, feeling Cindy grabbing at her medals. 

“Bye, Felicity.”

Tommy, Oliver and Felicity moved towards the car park. Tommy pulled Oliver to the side.

“Sort your shit out,” Tommy hissed. “You’re on leave now, get it together, swallow your pride.”

“Yes, sir,” Oliver murmured.

Tommy climbed in to his truck and Felicity and Oliver slid into the ship’s Jeep. It was a decade old, silver lump of rust that was on offer for anyone in the ship’s company that needed transport around the base. They could have walked from the ceremony to the ship, but the humidity was messing with Oliver’s knee and Felicity’s back, so they had to drive. 

“Can I give this award back?” Felicity asked, as they drove towards the port.

“I don’t think so, Smoak, you can try but…” 

“I just feel like I should have been allowed to have say in this, this is a big deal, it’ll change the way people see me, I just want to finish my years of service under the radar, now, every man and their dog knows who I am,” she rambled, “I just don’t want that.”

"Stop sign," Oliver stated nonchalantly.

"What?" Felicity had trailed off from her rant and turned to irately glare at him.

"Stop sign," he repeated, a little more urgently.

Felicity glanced back at the road and, a split second later, stomped the brakes.

When the car rocked back on its axles, Oliver pulled his hands away from where he had braced against the dash. He glanced over at Felicity who was blowing hair off her face.

"You okay?" 

"All good, sir. You?"

"Fine."

"There are so many unnecessary stop signs on this base."

A car behind them beeped, and in response Felicity growled, muttering under her breath and pulling away from the intersection. 

"I mean, really," she continued as she pulled into a parking space, as if there hadn't been a five minute lull in the conversation, "one stop sign there would do, a four way stop sign creates havoc."

They got out of the car, placing their caps in and walking briskly towards the ship.

"Even a roundabout," she suggested as the saluted on the gang way.

She was still ranting about it when they arrived at the bridge.

"Petty Officer," Oliver turned to her at the door, a smirk tugging at his lips.

Felicity managed to pull up just in time and stop herself from crashing into Oliver.

She was wide eyed and biting her lip. "Sorry, sir, shutting up, in 3, 2, 1."


	36. Three Words That Became Hard To Say (I and Love and You)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, here we go.
> 
> A nice little domestic scene. I can do that, right?

The night after Holly’s birthday, Felicity found herself back at John and Lyla’s house, baby sitting the one year old. Lyla was just about to deploy on the Iwo Jima and the two wanted a night together. Felicity had ordered pizza for dinner after she’d put Holly to bed. There’d been much screaming, a lot of tears (some from Felicity), and a lot of solid bottom patting as Felicity had nursed Holly with a bottle. 

The knock on the door had Felicity hurrying across the wooden floorboards in her fluffy socks.

“Oh,” she had frowned immediately, opening the door to Oliver

“Ouch,” he grinned.

“Sorry, I thought you were the pizza guy,” she opened the door a little further, allowing Oliver to step inside.

As always, they kissed each other on the cheek, Oliver supporting Felicity with a hand cupped under her elbow. 

“Can I share your pizza?” Oliver asked.

“I ordered two,” she replied, nodding.

“Did you just?”

“Yeah, I figured you’d probably crash here tonight again, instead of in your quarters,” she explained.

They had walked through to the living room and sat down side by side on the lounge. Felicity regarded Oliver with an air of wariness. The last time they’d been alone in John and Lyla’s house, they’d come together again, sadness and exhaustion had pulled them closer and closer. They’d both been spending every night they could at the Diggle household, it was much homelier than their small dorm style rooms, and full of life. There were enough spare rooms to accommodate both of them, but the two of them often stayed up all night talking. Felicity was filling in the blanks of Oliver’s memory of those fateful few days, very slowly, because it was hard on both of them. 

Oliver didn’t remember much after they’d tumbled down the cliff side, so Felicity relayed what she could remember in what was hopefully the right order of events.

She’d suggested that Oliver read her and Diggle’s after action report but he said that it wasn’t the same as hearing it from her. He had questions about why she did things a certain way, how he had done things, whether Diggle took the role of command control.

She could sense that Oliver was about to ask about Operation Sea Charger but she was literally saved by the bell, the doorbell. And this time, it was the pizza delivery guy.

They had devoured their pizza and were settling in on the sofa, watching something on the History Channel when they heard a commotion over the baby monitor.

Felicity sat up straighter, listening.

“Flee-Teeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!” she heard Holly calling. “Fleeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee-teeeeeeeeeeeeee!”

Felicity headed up the hallway, Oliver moving quickly behind her. 

She opened the bedroom door and had to stifle a scream. Holly had somehow crawled out of her crib and raided the talcum powder and nappy rash ointment. She was covered head to toe in a claggy mix of the two.

“Flee-tee!” she squealed, throwing talcum powder at Felicity and laughing with delight when the clump hit the target.

“Holly!” Felicity laughed.

“O!” Holly laughed, as Oliver entered the room. The wooden floor was slippery with the greasy ointment and Oliver hit the deck. Hard.

“Holy fu-dge,” Oliver rolled onto his stomach.

“You okay?” Felicity asked.

“Yeah, now I’m just covered in sh- stuff,” he pushed himself to his knees and wrapped his arms around Holly, “Little gremlin, what made you think this was a good idea?”

“O,” she stroked his face, succeeding in spreading the claggy mixture through his beard.

“Well, thank you,” Oliver kissed her cheek.

The three of them were covered in talcum powder and ointment and Felicity decided that a shower was in order.

“All of us?” Oliver asked.

“Eventually, I’ll take Holly in first,” Felicity narrowed her eyes at him, picking Holly up and taking her to the bathroom.

After a lot of suds, Holly and Felicity were clean. Holly was giggling manically as Felicity put a nappy on her and dressed her in clean pyjamas. Felicity changed into a pair of tracksuit pants and a white ribbed singlet. Oliver had wiped down what he could in the room, mopped the floor and changed the sheets in her crib.

“Your turn in the shower now,” she leant against the door frame with Holly on her hip. He nodded, squeezing past her, but not before planting a kiss on her forehead.

“This suits you,” he whispered, those three words made Felicity’s heart skip a beat, the knowledge that it may never happen creating a lump in her throat. “Felicity, I want you to know that all this stuff, the good, the bad, and the downright horrendous you had to go through, I'm glad that you did. They shaped the person you are today. And you know how I feel about her.”

Felicity pursed her lips. “You should go wash off.”

 

By the time Oliver was finished in the shower, Holly was asleep on the guest bed, with Felicity propped up on her elbow, watching the tiny human.

“Jesus Christ!” she hissed as he walked stark naked into the guest room, “Put some pants on!”

“Well, I had some logistical problems,” he started, “there were no more towels in the bathroom, for starters. Also that ointment is greasy, it was everywhere, I couldn’t put my underwear back on, and I know there’s a few clean pairs of mine in here.”

“You can use my towel,” she unwrapped the towel from her head and threw it at him. He walked to the chest of drawers and finally found some underwear. He turned to Felicity, absentmindedly drying himself.

He’d never looked so beautiful, so utterly at home and in place. He was watching Holly, while Felicity watched him. His strong, still face and steady, relaxed breathing filled her with such a longing that she had to glance away for a second, just to catch her bearing. But then she let her eyes wander again; from his face to his stubbled neck, to the tanned, firm arms, toned and strong, with the veins pulsing along their length. He drew the towel over the firm stomach that may have seen a little indulgence in recent months—no longer lithe and svelte as before, yet still hard with muscle. His hips, slim and narrow, relaxed into the firmness of the pelvis. The penis, bizarrely familiar, almost instantly tempting, naturally brought back a slew of memories, which she did not necessarily want to remember. So she let her eyes skim over the long, straight legs, feeling her breath quickening. The sight of him, the naked body, the bigness of the shoulders and the square palms, the smoothness of him, the manliness, caused her breath to catch in her throat, especially when her eyes traveled back up, to find him staring back at her.

“You know what you do to me?” he whispered.

She shook her head, “You and I… whatever we were, that’s the past.”

“Doesn’t have to be,” he shrugged, finally pulling his trunks on.

Felicity moved off the bed and scooped Holly up.

“I’ll just take her back to bed,” she stated, but didn’t move.

She stood there, nursing Holly, swaying from side to side, lightly tapping Holly’s bottom. Oliver was still, aside from his fingers twitching. He went to move around the bed, towards her, but she turned and walked out the door.

She stayed in Holly’s room for longer than necessary, the tiny hand wrapped around her index finger. Finally, she swallowed her pride and went back to the guest room. It was empty. As if electrocuted, she jerked around, frantically searching the house. She thought that she had dreamt the whole incident and with her dreams being so vivid lately, fueled by her longing and sadness, she didn’t think it was impossible. But then her gaze fell on the pile of greasy clothes on the floor. She ran through the living room into the kitchen.

Oliver was standing at the stove, clad only in a pair of grey tracksuit pants, barefoot, his long torso nude, his hair spikey and still holding some water droplets.

Her wildly beating heart hurt her chest and she slipped to the floor, sliding down the door frame.

He turned around, looking at her with some confusion.

“Are you ok?” he rushed to her, squatting down in front of her.

She nodded, kneading her sternum with her left fist.

“Hot chocolate?” he then asked.

She wiped her tears and nodded, watching him, arms wrapped around her knees.

“I thought-” she started but was interrupted with a tender kiss to her lips.

She wished he'd stop doing that.

“It’s not like I’d just leave,” he shrugged, going back to the saucepan of milk, “we need to talk.”

He poured the chocolatey milk into two mugs, bringing one to her, where she was still sat on the floor. He slid down next to her. They drank their hot chocolates in silence, sat close together, the length of their sides touching.

“So, after the sun went down…” he prompted her to pick up her story where she left off last time.

“So, the sun sets, Diggle hauls Roy to his feet, the poor kid is ribbons, you are not with it, you’ve lost a lot of blood, you have a minor concussion, we struggle down the last of the slope and then we’re out in this open field, the Talis start firing at us again, bullets, RPGs, 50 cals,” she explained.

Oliver took her hand and squeezed it.

“You start on this dramatic spiel, about how I should just leave you, get Roy and Diggle home, and leave you behind, and I said-”

“You can fuck right off if you think that’s a thing I’ll let happen,” Oliver recited. She’d told this story before, Oliver had heard it multiple times, but he needed to keep hearing it.

“Yep, and then you trip, and we both go down and your leg is hurting you and my hip is hurting me and I’m crying, I think I’ve been crying for about fifteen hours now,” she laughed darkly, “not bawling, but just constantly on the verge of, so I haul you back up and my shoulder is killing me, the gunshot wound on my arm is burning, and then, a few paces from where we fell, there’s a near miss from an RPG. It knocks you out. Well, I just assumed it knocked you out, I couldn’t even let the thought of you being dead cross my mind.”

“Felicity…”

“I’m super pissed at you by this point, by the way, so I make Dig leave Roy behind this rock and come and get you. I run ahead to Roy, who, let’s be honest, by this point, should be dead, and he keeps calling me ma’am, so I get even more pissed and then he just passes out.”

“We can stop,” he hushed her, seeing that she was getting agitated.

“Yeah…” she let out a long breath.

“My turn to tell you something.”

“Mmm?”

“I have to have surgery on my knee,” Oliver started, “I’m on medical leave, as of two days ago.”

Felicity sipped the last of her hot chocolate. She rested her head on Oliver’s shoulder.

“So you won’t be heading out on the next USS Chinook deployment?”

“No,” Oliver shook his head, “the doctors were saying that I’ll be back on light duties in ten months and back at sea in eighteen months.”

“Eighteen months?”

“It’s a long time to test the waters,” he spoke carefully, taking her mug out of her hand, “see where we’re at, work something out, there’s plenty of other ships that either of us could get transferred to when I come back.”

“Eighteen months,” Felicity repeated, watching him place their mugs on the floor, his eyes a darker blue when he turned back to her, bringing a hand up to cup her face.

“Yeah,” he breathed into her mouth, “see where we’re at.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, when it came down to it, this was going to be the last chapter. I felt like I couldn't quite put into words what I wanted to after this. But, in the end, I've had a lot of time to carefully plan and word a little epilogue that will go up in the next couple of days.


	37. A Father's First Spring

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is it, the very last chapter. 
> 
> I'll leave a bigger note at the end but for now, a little bit of jargon. TMU stand for Temporarily Medically Unfit.

**_18 MONTHS LATER_ **

“Lieutenant Commander Queen?” a young Petty Officer came rushing up to him in the mess.

“Yes?”

“There’s a call on the sat phone for you, sounds urgent, they are holding the call in the comms room,” he explained.

“Thank you, sailor,” he nodded.

Leaving his lunch half eaten on the table, he raced to the comms room, sliding down the ladders between decks. 

“That phone, sir,” a sub lieutenant pointed to the phone on the desk next to her.

“This is Lieutenant Commander Oliver Queen,” he picked up the phone.

“This is Senior Chief Petty Officer Felicity Smoak,” came Felicity’s voice.

“My girl,” he smiled. “How are you?”

“Ah, long story short, they’re medivac-ing me off the ship to your ship,” she stated, and only then did Oliver hear discomfort in her voice.

“Are you-are you okay?” he felt all the colour drain from his face, felt his knees shaking so hard he fell, rather than sat, in the chair.

“In a way, yes,” she started slowly and then rushed a, “hang on.”

Oliver strained to hear the muffled noises, but was not able to make anything out.

“Sorry,” she sighed, exhausted.

“Felicity, what’s wrong?”

“Hyperemesis Gravidarum,” she replied, “I passed out on the bridge this morning.”

“Hypere-what?” Oliver’s eyebrows pulled in, panic spreading through him.

“Severe morning sickness, Hyperemesis Gravidarum actually means ‘excessive vomiting during pregnancy,” she replied so casually that Oliver had to replay the last sentence.

“Preg-you’re-we’re,” Oliver put his hand over his mouth to try to stop his tears and turned away from the sub lieutenant, reducing his voice to a whisper. “Pregnant?”

“Yeah,” Felicity laughed, and Oliver could tell that she was crying, “about two months.”

“So, that’d be,” Oliver trailed off as he flashed back.

“Hawaii,” Felicity confirmed, “that night we were both off duty during RIMPAC.”

“Pregnant?” was all Oliver could say. He was sure that everyone in the comms room was now privy to his news and was aware that he was openly crying, but the burst of unadulterated happiness that swelled in his chest meant he didn’t care.

“Yes,” she replied quickly, this time having no time to excuse herself to vomit.

Oliver winced, listening the dry retching through the questionable signal on the satellite phone.

“Are you okay?” he asked softly, and turned to glare at the sub lieutenant who offered an ‘awww’ after his question. “You said you passed out?”

“Yeah, I’m just dehydrated and exhausted,” she sighed, “I’ll be getting a chopper to USS New York because apparently you guys are headed back to port tomorrow?”

“Yeah,” Oliver sighed, still embarrassingly emotional about their news, “I’ll see you when you get here.”

“I’m about four hours away,” she said.

“Alright, I love you.”

“I love you too.”

 

Oliver was waiting on deck when the Seahawk landed. He was flinging open the door before the rotor blades had stopped spinning, much to the chagrin of the flight control sailors.

Felicity, asleep on her side with earmuffs askew, was pink cheeked and sweaty.

“Is she okay?” he shouted over the noise of the engine wind down.

“She’s been vomiting the whole trip, sir!” the medical officer traveling with her yelled back, unlocking the stretcher and helping the flight crew push her outside.

“Well, have you given her anything?” he lowered his voice as they got further away from the flight deck.

“Yes, some Zofran and plenty of fluids,” he assured him.

It was a quick walk to the sick bay and they moved Felicity to a more comfortable bed. The jostling woke her and she quickly searched the room for Oliver.

“Sir,” she offered, with the cutest grin on her face that Oliver had ever seen.

“Smoak,” he returned, just as cheekily.

“This is all your fault, by the way,” she threw, “this little spawn of satan, your fault.”

“I love you?” he offered uncertainly with a shrug and a smile.

 

Felicity was TMU-ed instantly. There were no desk jobs available at Mayport in her specialties so she was a lady of leisure from that point on. Oliver’s ship, the USS New York, was due for a complete interior refabrication so Oliver was working at the base. 

He often came home to computers deconstructed and strewn across the lounge room floor of their house, a clear indication of Felicity’s boredom. It was like every other house on the base. Weatherboard, painted one shade of pastel or another. Inside, it was sparsely furnished. The two of them didn’t want for much. A deep, plush, white sofa that they often spent Saturdays curled up on, a beautiful timber buffet that held pictures of their nearest and dearest. Continually updated photos of Diggle, Lyla and Holly, as well as Roy, Thea and Cindy, that one photo of Heath in his ceremonials, a silent vow to never forget. 

Cindy and Holly were at the crèche on the base together and were inseparable. On days when Lyla was at sea and Diggle was working late, Thea and Roy would look after Holly like she was another extension of themselves. Diggle had gotten work at a private security firm and would sometimes even be contracted out to work at the navy base. 

Roy was probably never going to mentally recover from the events in Afghanistan. Sometimes these things just irreversibly change people. He still had his service dog, Patton, and was volunteering at the rehabilitation unit to train new dogs to help other returned soldiers who were suffering from severe PTSD. 

Their bedroom was also modestly furnished, if a king sized bed could be considered modest. The white wooden bed, often unmade and crumpled, was the only piece of furniture in the room aside from two odd bedside tables. Oliver kept his bedside table tidy. A lamp, an alarm clock and his watch when he took it off at night. Felicity’s, on the other hand, was piled with books of all different genres, jewellery that was discarded and forgotten about for weeks at a time and a single photo frame of her and Oliver. It was taken in Hawaii, on a rare day off from RIMPAC. The same day that they conceived what Felicity believed to be their miracle baby.

As her pregnancy progressed and her stomach grew, Felicity grew more and more self-conscious. The twisted scar tissue did not stretch as well as the rest of her skin and resulted in a slightly odd shaped baby bump. She refused to wear anything tight fitting, anything that accentuated it and, when people would obtrusively touch her swelling belly, she would twist away with an awkward laugh and wave off their questions.

The pucker at her side was having no ill effect on the budding life inside of her. She may have been tiny but her offspring certainly wasn’t. Clearly taking after it’s father, her belly at seven months was bigger than Thea was at any point in her pregnancy.

Oliver knew that she was self-conscious, but he could not stop expressing his awe at the beautiful sight of his pregnant girlfriend. When he climbed into the shower with her on the rare occasion he had a late start, he would often sit on the bed for a little while before hand. He’d watch her through the open bathroom door as she lovingly caressed her belly, applying a moisturising shower gel that seemed to ease the pain she often felt from the stretching scar tissue. 

He would then strip off and slide into the shower, wrapping his arms around her from behind. She would smile and a giggle of complete contentment would leave her lips.

He would push his lips to her neck, just below her ear and always whisper the same thing.

“You are remarkable.”

 

“Felicity!” Oliver hollered, “we need to move!”

“I know!” she threw back, moving tentatively through the room, “I know, just, I’m coming!”

“Now, Felicity, seriously,” he replied.

“Oliver!” she exclaimed, “I’m not on your fucking SEAL team anymore! We’re not clearing a house!”

“I know,” he stuck his head in the door, “but, technically, we do need to clear this house if you want to make it to the medical centre on time.”

“Oliver, it’s a three minute drive.”

“Our child could be prompt,” he pouted.

“Patience, my love, patience.”

She adjusted the photo on the dresser, a mustard frame that held a picture of her, Oliver and Heath. It was taken only a few days before Heath was killed. The three of them were sitting on a table outside the dining hall at Chapman. They’d bumped back there for a couple of days for a physical, dental, and optical check. Felicity was sat in the middle of her two favourite people, both men leaning in to her to get in the shot. If her memory served her correctly, Diggle had taken the photo. They’d been relaxing after breakfast, waiting to be transported back to Murphy. Diggle had been particularly snap happy that whole week.

She scanned the room once more, the white wooden cot, with its mustard yellow and navy blue blankets, the nursing chair with matching cushions and the white dresser that held the most important photo to Felicity.

Less than three hours later a baby boy much smaller than Oliver expected arrived, crying and writhing. He didn’t think loving someone more than he loved Felicity was possible, but the minute the nurse placed his screaming seven pound son in his arms, Oliver was taken.

 

Heath Thomas Queen would grow up knowing, from a very young age and with devout understanding, the bravery his namesake displayed when it came to saving the life of his mother; the sun of his father’s life, and his own first great love.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This has been a hell of a lot of fun. It's been a learning curve, that's for sure. 
> 
> I have to thank everyone. Everyone who has read this, left a comment or a kudos. Do you have _any_ idea how wonderful it is to know that people appreciate your work?
> 
> Specific and heartfelt thanks go to bluemoonfireworks, Nightkeepyr and Blue Morgana. You guys were wonderful.
> 
> It's an odd feeling, finally wrapping this up. I already feel at a loss for something to do. A lot of work has gone into this, a lot of editing (although never perfect), a bit of research and A LOT of frustration and tears. 
> 
> If you ever feel like leaving me a prompt or anything, you can find me on tumblr at pandaflats.
> 
> Cheers guys.


End file.
